Magician of Asgard
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: The story of Loki as you've never heard it before! In his own words, this is the truth behind the legendary magician and trickster god of Norse myth!
1. An End and A Beginning

**1**﻿

An End and A Beginning

All tales have an end and a beginning, though sometimes it is unclear which is  
which. Sometimes you must tell the end of one tale before the beginning of another. The  
same can be said of lives. In every life there is a beginning and an ending. Birth and death.  
Though at the same time there can be many beginnings and endings as a child grows from  
a baby to an adult. Eventually, however, a person will die, and while most cultures see that  
as an ending, some also see it as a beginning of something greater.

Men have fought and died over that particular truth, more times than I can count.  
For myself, I've never thought about death, since I am never going to die. Unless someone  
kills me, I will live forever. Who am I, you ask?

I have many names. They call me the Thief of Asgard. Also Master of Mischief.  
Sometimes the Lord of Fire. The Cunning One. Lord of Magic and Lies. But I prefer to go  
by the name my mother (yes, I did have one) gave me. She called me Loki. She was one  
of the Aesir, a clan of immortals who ruled in my homeland of Asgard. And my name was  
the first and last word she ever spoke to me, for she died soon after I was born. I don't know  
who my father was—she died without telling. For all I know he could have been an Aesir  
lord, or a giant, or a prince of the Vanir, who are blood enemies of the Aesir. It doesn't  
really matter. It was obvious that he didn't care enough for my mother or his unborn child  
to stick around once he'd had his fun with her. But he was merely the first in a long line of  
men who have betrayed me. Once that would have bothered me—did bother me—but no  
longer. After so many centuries the taunt of half-breed bastard loses its sting.

There are advantages to not having a father, you know. For one thing, I never had  
to obey orders I didn't like, such as do your chores, go to bed, and eat your vegetables. I also  
didn't have the tiresome responsibility of living up to the honored name and deeds of my  
ancestors. I was free to do and be whatever I chose. I had no one to hover over me telling  
me to be a good fisherman, or boatbuilder, or spinner of sagas. No one to scold me if I came  
in with muddy boots, or forgot to do the milking or plowing. Sounds wonderful, right? It  
was, in a way. In another, however, it was damn lonely. I had to learn first and foremost  
that I had one person to rely on—myself. Oh, I had an elderly couple of Vanir to watch over  
me when I was little, but they merely saw to it that I had food and clothing. To them I was  
nothing but a foundling, child of nobody, and therefore not worth much.

Not that they were deliberately cruel to me, but I was no kin to them and back then,  
a family name was everything. It defined you. My lack of one left me free in one respect  
and trapped in another. I had no obligations to live up to but neither did I have the  
protection of a name, or a sense of belonging. I was the fosterling of Hefrin and Marta, but  
I was never their son. As I said, they were old when they assumed my care and they had not  
much affection left to go round. Then again, I was not an easy child to manage. Big surprise  
there! I was too clever, too stubborn, and too inclined to mischief. And guess what, I still  
am. I was not what you would call a biddable child.

I wonder if there even is such a thing? Somehow I doubt it. Usually a child is only  
biddable when he or she is sleeping, or sick, or scared to death of being beaten. I was only  
the former and never the latter two. Though Hefrin did take a stick to me once for my  
impudent tongue. Once and never again. I was all of about nine, I think, and that first time  
I was too startled to do anything about it. Except cry, that is. Afterwards, though, I vowed  
to never let myself be in that position again. Young as I was, I still had command over a  
decent portion of magic, something which my foster parents lacked. Thus I set about  
protecting myself from Hefrin's switch.

Respect for authority has never been my strong suit, and after he had beaten me I lost  
what little respect I'd ever had for him. Violence has never gone over well with me, now  
or ever. Which has led certain members of my Aesir family to label me a coward. I see  
little point in covering myself in blood and gore by slaughtering some helpless mortal, then  
patting myself on the back for it. Nor yet having a warrior attempting to do the same to me.  
There are much better ways of settling quarrels, a fact my noisy, crazy, war-obsessed family  
has yet to learn. I've been trying to pound some sense into their dim skulls for centuries  
with no success.

But I was speaking of my childhood, or what passed for one. Despite my dislike of  
physical force, Hefrin's beating did not make me fear him. Being immortal, I heal quickly.  
Nor did it make me think twice about my smart mouth. I cannot remember now what it was  
I said to make him angry, but it can't have been half as bad as the insults I later used on  
those who irritated me. If he'd ever demonstrated the least little bit of affection for me, I  
might have been remorseful and attempted to modify my behavior. As it was . . .the  
punishment made me angry, for I did not feel as if I owed him any obedience and therefore  
he had no right to demand it of me. Worse still, he thought he could command it by fear.  
Wrong attitude entirely. I have always hated bullies and my first instinct when confronted  
with one is to get even. By using my head, not my fists.

This I did by using my fledgling skills as a magician to cast a spell about myself that  
convinced wood not to harm me. Quite a useful spell, that. I never got splinters when I  
gathered wood for the fire any more, and any sticks in my path slithered away so I wouldn't  
trip over them. The next time Hefrin lifted a stick to me, why isn't important, since I  
provoked him by my mere presence, the stick broke before it ever touched my skin. I'll  
never forget the look on his face when that happened. It was priceless. The mixture of  
shock and disbelief in his dull face . . .I had no self-control back then and couldn't resist  
snickering.

That only made him angrier, and he dragged me by the hair over to a log and threw  
me over it, screaming, "Make fun of me, will you, little brat? I'll teach you!" Then he  
grabbed a damn piece of wood at least four feet long (I kid you not) and swung it at my  
backside. I was praying now that my spell would hold, for I knew if he belted me with that  
I wouldn't be laughing for a long time. I cursed him in my head, for if I'd had any kind of  
family, he'd never dare to beat me like this, there are laws against beating a legitimate child  
to death. But I was the orphan, Loki son of Nobody, and I had no shield against his abuse.  
Except my magic, which caused the wood to warp and snap in his hand.

Gaping, he swung at me with the broken part and that twisted out of his hand too.  
By then anyone with a grain of sense would have figured out it was useless to hit me with  
a stick and have grabbed something else. I couldn't escape, he had me pinned there by the  
back of my neck. Luckily for me, Hefrin has never been smart. He chose another stick.  
Then another, all with the same result as the first. After ten minutes of this and about twenty  
broken sticks, he finally realized he couldn't beat me and let me go.

"Little Aesir witch!" he spat, and aimed a cuff at my head.

I dodged it neatly and fled, sprinting for all I was worth into the forest that bordered  
their house. I thanked all the stars he hadn't thought to use his belt, for I'd not had time to  
develop a spell to protect me against leather. I spent the night in a tree, too wise to go home  
and put myself within reach of his hands.

I woke cold and hungry, but at least I had a whole skin. I crept home, having learned  
to be wary and quiet from my forest animal companions. I planned to nip inside the barn  
and sneak a few mouthfuls of milk from our goat and sleep in the soft hay. But as I crept  
up to the side of the barn, I heard Hefrin and Marta within, talking, while Marta milked.

I bit my lip, cursing my fleeting luck. My stomach was growling like a horde of  
wolves. I started to back away toward the main house, thinking to steal a bowl of porridge  
or some bread and cheese from the pantry, when I heard Hefrin snap, "I don't care if he is  
an orphan, I've had it! I'm not feeding no useless half-Aesir witch anymore. He's nothing  
but a sneaking scamp, no good for anything but mischief. So let him play his tricks on  
somebody else, I say. Tomorrow I'm selling him to Mudir the frost giant, let them teach him  
some respect for his elders. He can be a thrall for them for a hundred years and learn his  
place in the world, the impudent niding!"

I listened with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Marta said something, but I  
couldn't hear it, and anyhow it wouldn't make a difference, since she did whatever Hefrin  
said anyway. I tripped over my own feet and ended up sprawling on the ground., skinning  
my knees and hands. But that pain was nothing to the one in my heart.

Slavery! They would make me a slave to frost giants, the meanest cruelest creatures  
in the realms. And for what? A few boyish pranks and leaving my chores half-done? A  
saucy tongue? It was true I didn't help them as much as I could have, but when I did work  
at a task, it got done well. And I wasn't always backtalking Hefrin, and Marta had always  
said I told the most entertaining stories about animals and such (which weren't stories, but  
truth, since I spent a good portion of my time in the woods interacting with animals). Surely  
nothing I'd done warranted being sold into slavery to Mudir!

Hefrin continued. "I could get seven pieces of silver for him, I'm thinking, even if  
he is a scrawny wretch. It wouldn't cost them much to keep him, he doesn't eat much. And  
then I can get that new plow I've been wanting and maybe an ox."

My head spun and I felt sick. A new plow and ox! Was that all I was worth? A  
farming implement and a stupid cow? He doesn't eat much. Which meant they could starve  
me if they wanted, I thought bitterly. I didn't eat much because there wasn't much to eat,  
and I knew if I ate more than my share I'd be yelled at and Marta would go hungry. Hefrin  
never bothered to strike a decent bargain with the traders for Marta's woolens, and he was  
stingy with food, except for himself that is. If he'd let me go with him to trade, I could have  
gotten three times what he did, and then he would have seen how useful I was. But Hefrin  
never let me off the farm, saying he couldn't be bothered with a half-Aesir brat tagging  
along. I knew the real reason was because he was ashamed of my status as an orphan and  
he didn't want the villagers to know he'd taken in an outcast. He couldn't even claim me  
as a bondservant, for my mother had been a free person and claimed the right of hospitality  
for me and herself.

"That'll be a damn sight more use than him, the disobedient wretch!" Hefrin snorted.  
"I'll tell Mudir not to spare his whip, the brat could use a good dose of the lash. Ain't no  
use my trying to beat manners into him, it don't take. Devil's brat, ought to be grateful I  
didn't switch him more often."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Now I was being blamed for not wanting to  
get beaten. Name one child anywhere who's ever asked for a beating! And I hadn't done  
anything truly destructive about the place to even warrant such treatment. I never stole from  
them, unless you count food, and I never mistreated the goat or the chickens. Yes I was lazy  
about chores and I enjoyed harmless practical jokes, but nothing I'd ever done was bad  
enough to merit being sold as a thrall. Was it?

Not by a long shot. I didn't bother hanging around to hear more of Hefrin's plans.  
I slithered like a snake inside the cottage, grabbed a leather sack off the hook next to the  
door and raided the pantry. I took two loaves of bread, both fresh, a half a wheel of cheese  
(the whole one was too heavy for me), a string of smoked sausages, and a bag of dried  
apples. Then I took a waterskin, empty, since I've never liked ale or mead and one of  
Marta's knives. I would need a sharp knife for gutting a kill, or protection. Lastly I  
scampered into the loft and grabbed my sheepskin and a blanket as well as my extra set of  
clothes and boots. That was all I had in the way of worldly possessions, that and the clothes  
on my back.

I took nothing else from them, though months later Hefrin would accuse me of  
stealing a gold arm ring from him. What a liar! I was too upset to take anything but food  
from them, and in any case he was wearing the damn thing when I left. Though I have to  
admit if I'd had the opportunity, I would have taken it, as payment for all the nasty things  
he'd said of me.

I slung the sack and the fleece over my shoulder and crept past the barn yet again.  
Hefrin was still going on about the things he would buy with Mudir's silver. Ha! Fat chance.  
"Lock him in the feed bin," he was telling his wife. "I'll tell Mudir to be here bright and  
early tomorrow and that'll be that. He'll be someone else's problem then."

Someone else's problem. Those words burned me like a red-hot iron. Was that all  
I was? A problem, something to be gotten rid of? Apparently so. Well, no longer, I vowed  
with clenched fists and burning eyes. Hefrin, your problem just walked out of here, you  
miserable skinflint bastard. And if you want your seven pieces of silver you're gonna have  
to catch me first.

I took off at a dead sprint, but quietly. Only the wind heard me go. I left without a  
backward glance the only home I'd ever known. My heart was sick within me at their  
betrayal. Oh, I'd always known they didn't love me the way parents loved their own child,  
but I'd tricked myself into thinking they cared for me a little. They'd raised me from a baby,  
after all. A small part of me had always hoped that one day they'd even grow to love me.  
What an idealistic fool I was!

I was the unwanted baggage they'd been saddled with, since my mother had the bad  
taste to die while she was staying with them and I'd had the bad taste to live instead of  
following her to the underworld. Loki son of Nobody. Nothing but an outcast piece of half-  
Aesir trash, worth seven pieces of silver.

I ran as hard and as fast as I could with the food and the fleece, deep into the  
trackless forest that bordered the lands of the Vanir and Aesir. My only goal was to put as  
much distance as I could between me and those who had turned on me. I was small but wiry  
and strong, despite my thinness, a perk of my immortal blood. I ran for hours, until the only  
sounds in my ears were the chattering of squirrels, birds, and the panting of my own breath.  
I halted and listened intently. No one was following me. I wasn't too concerned about that,  
Hefrin had never been much of a woodsman. I could track better than him when I was six.

By now I was tired, hungry, thirsty, and sore from carrying everything on my  
shoulder. I needed a drink of water desperately. I cocked my head and listened again.  
There! The gurgle of a stream. I followed the sound till I came to a respectable brook of  
fresh clear water. Oh joy under the mountain!

I tossed my belongings under an ash tree and threw myself face down on the bank  
and drank greedily. Then I filled my waterskin. I splashed some water on my face and hair.  
If I haven't mentioned it before, I have red hair and green eyes, cat eyes some have said. Not  
flaming red, mind, but the darker red of the fire's embers. And I have pale skin, though I  
don't freckle, thank the heavens.

I tossed a few crumbs of bread into the stream as a thank you gift to the nymph of  
the stream. This was not just a superstitious gesture on my part. In Asgard, the very air you  
breathe is filled with magic. Nine times out of ten a stream or a wood has some kind of  
spirit in it and it's never wise to offend them. Especially not if you're a child alone, as I was  
then. One day I would have enough power not to have to worry about offending any minor  
nymph or wood sprite, but back then I was a mere babe, though smart enough to realize it.

Throwing the bread in the water made me realize how hungry I was. I promptly  
devoured half a loaf of bread and some cheese and two sausages, having had nothing to eat  
since yesterday morning (before Hefrin had tried to beat me). After I'd eaten, I looked for  
a place to lay my bedding, and took some pine boughs and wove them into a frame. This  
I moved back some yards from the stream, placing it beneath a large oak tree. The oak  
provided shade from the sun and was good luck besides. I placed my fleece and blanket on  
the pine boughs and thought about going to sleep.

But I was dirty from my run and I've never enjoyed being so. I decided to take a  
quick bath in the stream. Since the water was cold, I didn't linger, just long enough to wash  
myself of the dust and grime and then I was out shivering. I spoke a charm to dry myself,  
I've always been good with fire, and then I dressed in my other set of clothes. I'd wash my  
trousers and tunic tomorrow.

I went back to my sweet smelling bed of pine boughs and fleece, which was by far  
a better bed than the one I'd had the night before, intending to fall asleep. Only I didn't.  
I curled up in the middle of the bed and began to cry instead. All the mean hateful things  
Hefrin had said and done came flooding back to me in that instant and I was helpless to  
defend myself against them. I told myself inbetween sobs that I was better off alone, a free  
person and not a thrall to giants. Living in the forest was much better than living under  
Hefrin's thumb, or Mudir's, Norns have mercy!

But while that was true, I was also just a boy, and I had just lost the only home and  
the only people I had ever known. No matter how indifferent they'd been to me, still I'd had  
someone. Now I had no one. So I cried until I was exhausted, and fell asleep. That was the  
first and last time I ever did that.

Not one more tear did I shed until many centuries later, but that is another story.  
Thus began my life as a solitary man and eventually a magician of great power. I have been  
alone for most of my adult life, and for the most part I prefer it that way. Even when I  
became blood brother with Odin of the Aesir, I was still not a full member of his company.  
Not that I wanted to, for most of them were no better than Hefrin, brutes who delighted in  
physical strength and drinking and wenching, worse than animals. I've been drunk a time  
or two, don't get me wrong (and I've always, always regretted it!) and I've enjoyed the  
company of a sweet lass too, but I've never forced a woman (and never will), nor lost my  
heart to one.

Some of my family members will tell you that's because I've not got a heart, but  
that's just plain stupid. I have one all right, I just didn't pay any attention to it for a long  
time. And mindful of my early betrayal by Hefrin and Marta, I was damn careful to never  
let anyone get too close to me. I trusted no one and in turn no one trusted me.

Which suited me fine. I was content to be a figure of mystery, the unknown man at  
the feast, the trickster with the clever hands and smart mouth. I'm sure you've heard all the  
stories about me. One and all of them speak of my cleverness, which didn't count half as  
much as being able to bash a man's head with a hammer back then. Why was that, you ask?  
How in hell should I know?

But just to set the record straight, before I came along Odin and the rest of the Aesir  
in his hall were little better than beasts. I was the one who brought some kind of culture into  
their lives and made Valhalla a place for decent people to live in. Left to themselves, they'd  
still be wearing animal skins and eating half-raw meat over a stinking fire.

But my magic changed all that, sprucing up the place enough to make it civilized  
enough to attract Frigga, Freya and the other Aesir ladies. Because no self-respecting  
woman would set foot in the sty Valhalla was before, trust me! I introduced Thor to the  
novelties of a bath too, you have no idea what he was like before, believe me! I did the  
whole world a favor. And did I get any thanks for it? Hell no! Did any lady say, I want that  
clever man for my husband, look at what he's done to this bunch of rude, stinking louts? No.  
One and all they fell for Thor's shoulders and Baldur's face and Odin's smile. They sighed  
over Frey's golden hair and Heimdall's thighs and they thought the fact that Modi could lift  
a whole ox and parade round the hall with it was just dreamy.

Don't ask me why a woman's head is nearly always turned by a set of flashy biceps,  
but there you have it. Now, I'm no scrawny beanpole, but next to Thor and Odin I look like  
a twig. But then again, I've always valued brains over brawn. I make my living with my  
wits and I'm damn proud of it.

But that can't compete with a chest like a prize stallion's, even if the immortal in  
question has a brain to match. You'll note, I don't call my fellow Aesir gods, since we really  
aren't. Oh, I know mortals worshipped us as such, but they were mistaken. We're  
immortals, meaning we don't die from disease or old age, but we can be killed. If we  
couldn't then explain to me why Odin is so deathly afraid of Ragnarok?

I hate that stupid prophecy. Because once again I'm the scapegoat. According to the  
ravings of the Norns—three old women who control the fates of gods and men—I'm going  
to betray the gods to the giants and bring about the end of the world.

Utterly ridiculous. I could have betrayed them any number of times to the giants  
when they were all passed out drunk on the floor of Valhalla, and gotten away with my  
pockets full of gold too. You'll note, they're all still here, though one or two of them are  
missing a ring or two. Sorry, but I'm a thief, I got into the habit when I was a child and  
never really grew out of it. I do it mainly for fun, and half of what I steal I eventually return  
in the form of favors. And I never kill anyone doing it, unlike some criminals I could name.

Unfortunately, my reputation as a trickster and a thief isn't one most women want  
to have in their husband, but even they admit that my conversational skills are better. Still,  
I suppose one or two women might be willing to overlook those flaws, since I'm considerate  
of their feelings and know how to compliment a lady. But I have no wife, because I can't  
trust anyone with my heart. You see, having a wife means having a partner, at least to me  
it does, and that means you have to share things. And not just a bed and your food either.  
In a true marriage you need to share yourself and that is the one thing I will never, can never,  
give away. Been there, done that. And never again. Hefrin and Marta and a few others  
taught me the folly of doing so long ago. It's the one lesson that stuck with me forever.

And thus I will forever be a kind of outcast, never truly belonging. Sometimes this  
bothers me. But never enough to risk my heart. The life of a magician and a trickster is  
usually a lonely one. I know that. I accepted that fact long ago, after I'd woken up red-eyed  
in the forest and realized that the only person in the world who gave a damn about me was  
myself.

I did not live with the other Aesir at Valhalla, they were too noisy and they disturbed  
my concentration with their parties and complaining and petty bickering. To practice my  
magic I needed solitude and quiet. I could never get that over there, so I relocated to a small  
pleasant valley some seven miles away. Far enough to not get woken up by another drunken  
bar fight and close enough for Odin or Thor to come and get me when they got tired of  
scrapping and needed somebody to fix their cuts and broken noses. And give them  
something for their aching heads and queasy bellies the next morning. Did I mention that  
I'm their unofficial healer too? Ah, didn't know that did you? Think about it, though. I'm  
the one with the most brains, and I know herbs from my wanderings in the forest. Ask Thor  
the difference between parsley and mint and he'll just look at you like a cross-eyed cow. So  
guess who got called when Tyr cut off his own hand in a drunken demonstration with an  
axe? Good old Loki. I know some of the tales say he got it bitten off by a giant wolf, but that  
is the worst lie ever told.

I was the one who got woken up at the crack of dawn by Thor bellowing, "Loki! Get  
your skinny ass down here before Tyr bleeds to death!"

Now there's no love lost between me and that uptight warrior, but I didn't think  
bleeding to death was a nice way to die either, and so I came down and fixed up Tyr's  
stump. I used alcohol and my magic to cauterize the thing, unpleasant, but necessary. And  
got a black eye for it when Tyr belted me afterwards for hurting him. No use my even trying  
to explain why I had to do what I did, infection and gangrene are not in his vocabulary. Not  
many words are.

But I kept the arm from going bad and now he wears a golden cuff or a hook on it  
and boasts that he's the prince of warriors and lost his hand in a terrific battle with a wolf.  
A wolf, by Hel's blackest pit! As if I didn't see the damn axe with my own two eyes, covered  
in blood. And what credit did I get for saving his arm? None whatsoever. He forgets I  
stayed with him when his fever spiked, pouring medicine down his throat, and cooling him  
down with ice and water.

Until the next time someone cuts himself on a sword or has a stomachache from  
stuffing himself like a pig at a banquet. Then it's "Loki, bring your satchel and help me, I  
think I'm dying of a disease!" My standard response to this is, "Of course you aren't dying  
of a damn disease, you stupid ass, you're immortal!"

Where did I learn my medical skills? Mostly from watching the animals and the  
mortals of Midgard. Mortals fascinate me. They live such brief lives, barely the blink of  
an eye to us, yet they pack so much into them. Eternally innovative and curious, they remain  
a constant source of amusement for me.

I used to travel quite regularly down the Bifrost Bridge to the mortal realm, but now  
I mostly observe them in a seeing bowl or a mirror. My house is a snug two-story affair,  
which I built myself using my magic. And that was damn hard. It cost me as much to use  
magic to build the house as it would have the ordinary way. But magic was faster, and in  
the end, it lasts longer. Not that the house was an illusion, for it isn't. Only that I used  
power instead of brute strength to align timbers and stones and so forth. One end of the  
house has a tower which I use to stargaze. I love watching the stars and finding new  
constellations in the heavens.

I also have a small barn and a pasture for my horse, Heror, and my goat Olga. Both  
of these are not ordinary animals, what kind of a magician would I be if they were? They're  
stronger, smarter, and stubborner than their regular counterparts, and they can talk. If you  
think having animals that can speak is something to look forward to, let me tell you it's both  
a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I don't have to talk to myself a lot and risk being  
thought crazy (though people do anyhow—sigh!). It's also a curse because both of them  
think they can tell me what to do. Believe me, you don't know how lucky you are to have  
dumb animals to take care of once you've had Olga threaten to kick you into next week if  
you don't quit squeezing her teat so hard or listened to Heror complain that there's not  
enough molasses in his bran mash. Not to mention the sly comments I get about getting too  
old to attract a girl! And people say I have an impudent tongue? Still, they're good animals,  
more like friends than animals really, and ten times as loyal as any immortal I could name.  
Do I ever tell them so? About as many times a day as I threaten to hit them with a stick for  
being so blasted opinionated. Of course they know I'm kidding about the stick, I would  
never dream of hitting them.

All in all, it's not such a bad life, being known as the Magician and Trickster of  
Asgard. I have plenty to eat, a roof over my head, my privacy, and two loyal companions  
to keep me humble (no small task that!). My house, unlike the hall at Valhalla after a night  
of feasting, is kept neat as a proverbial pin. Though not by any menial efforts of yours truly.  
I hate housekeeping, and would rather be lancing boils than dusting or sweeping. Probably  
because I was made to do those chores continuously as a small child, and was always  
criticized for doing them wrong. So how then does my house stay so clean?

That's due to my friend the Nis, a house sprite. Nisses live to clean houses and keep  
everything neat and tidy. Really. If you ever see a Nis sitting in the street crying, it's  
because some idiot has kicked it out of their home and there's nothing more pitiful than a  
Nis without a house to keep. Nisses are unhappy without work, they adore being useful, and  
they sing when they sweep and hum when they dust. Honest. And when they scrub the floor  
they're in paradise. Of course, with only myself in the house, things don't get all that messy,  
but I occasionally will leave dirty laundry and dishes about just to make it happy. And the  
Nis is content to live in the rafters and do my housekeeping in return for a bowl of milk and  
honey and brown bread. Nisses are such odd little creatures.

My Nis calls herself Ava, and she doesn't mind living in the same house as a known  
warlock and thief, which ought to say something. You wouldn't catch a Nis within fifty feet  
of Valhalla, even though the place begs for the touch of ten of them. That's why Odin and  
his family have servants to do their cleaning and such. None of the Aesir, except maybe  
Idun, Lady of Apples, knows how to treat a Nis so it'll remain and keep house for them.  
Nisses don't work for free, and they expect to be paid with food and drink and the occasional  
candy on holidays. They also expect once in awhile to have someone say thank you for their  
efforts. It's only polite, after all.

Pity most of the Aesir didn't learn any manners, because once there was a Nis or two  
about. Before they got disgusted with not being fed or appreciated and left for better  
domiciles. I can't say I blame them. Would you want to clean up puke and old beer and  
bones and dirt day after day for nothing except a stale crust or a bit of moldy cheese? Didn't  
think so. Even though Nisses are only minor sprites and therefore rather low on the scale  
of importance here in Asgard, I still think they deserve respect. I'm sure Ava would agree  
with me.

And if you've got a happy Nis, you've got a clean house. I could eat off my floor if  
I wanted. So the arrangement is mutually beneficial for us both. I see Ava most times in the  
early morning or late at night, since she likes to sleep in the afternoon. She resembles a  
small woman with long brown hands and white hair with huge brown eyes. She wears a  
kerchief over her hair like a proper house frau, a Nis is a dragon when it comes to propriety.

She wears a soft gown of amber cloth and a sparkling white apron over that, but no shoes.  
Nisses like to go barefoot. Her features are a bit more pointed and pronounced than a  
human's, and she's only about three feet tall, and she always has a pair of scissors and a bag  
of herbs at her sash. The scissors are to defend herself from some of the nastier inhabitants  
of the realm and the herbs are to season stews. Did I mention that Nisses make wonderful  
cooks? If I've been working late in my laboratory, Ava will usually bring me soup and a  
glass of milk. Usually that's accompanied by a scolding about working too hard. I swear,  
sometimes Ava thinks she's my mother, as if I needed one at this late a date.

I usually reply by drawling that she's forgetting her place and when last I checked  
I was still her master. And she sniffs and says, "You ain't gonna be nobody's master for  
much longer if you don't stop mucking about with those potions and eat something, sir."

"Yes, Ava. Now go away, Ava. Don't you have some silverware to polish or  
something?"

"Humph! I'll go then, but you'd better finish all that food before I come back, sir,  
you hear me?"

"Or else what?" I tease, grinning.

"Or else you can clean your own room tomorrow," she growls, wagging her finger  
at me.

"Oh very well, Mother," I sigh, because I know that's not an idle threat. Ava gets  
insulted if you don't eat her cooking and when a Nis is insulted, your house suffers.

"Oh, but you're bad, Master Loki," she sighs. "I'm not old enough to be your  
mother."

"Uh huh. So they tell me." I smirk. "Just how old are you, anyhow?"

That always makes her shriek indignantly. "You never ask a lady her age, Master!"  
she says, stamping her foot. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

"No, cause she died when I was born," I would say matter-of-factly.

"Well, I'm telling you now, so shut up and remember it."

"Or else what?"

"Or I'll make you do your own laundry too!" she flares.

At that I have to laugh and I tell her I'm sorry and I'll never ask how old she is again,  
since she can't remember it anyhow.

"Of course I can! Do you think I'm stupid? I'm three hundred and sixty-seven!"

"I see," I grin triumphantly. "Much too young to be my mother, fair one."

"Why you—you—" she sputters.

"Conniving rascal? Sly–tongued rogue?" I offer.

"Tricky damn bastard!" she spits, then bursts out laughing too. Nisses have a pretty  
good sense of humor, fortunately for me.

"Yeah, well they don't call me Master of Mischief for nothing, Ava."

"You are bad, Master Loki," she sniffs, waving a finger under my nose. Then she  
goes off to polish some silver and leave me in peace with my experiments. When she comes  
back the plate is always empty.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't use dark magic to enhance my powers. I was born  
with magic and have no need to steal some poor virgin's life force or suck the soul from an  
infant to increase my power. I have quite enough power as it is, thank you very much. Only  
stupid mortals need to resort to that kind of disgusting practice, and most of the time they  
mess it up anyway and end up with a vengeful spirit haunting them and enough power to fill  
a thimble. Go figure! They don't know that if you want true power you don't cut off a  
thrall's finger, but your own. A magician willing to sacrifice himself is the one who gains  
power, not the other way around.

Just ask Odin. He sacrificed an eye to gain wisdom and hung himself on the  
branches of Yggsdrasil the World Tree for nine days, so he could gain a drink from Mimir's  
Well of Wisdom. On my advice, might I add. He tried first by sacrificing some willing  
warriors and women, but it availed him nothing. What a waste. I had suggested he cut off  
a hand, but he refused since he was a war god and he needed his hand to fight. But a warrior  
can still fight with one eye, so that's what he gave Mimir.

Pretty gruesome, isn't it? Thank the Fates I never wanted anything that badly. Most  
of what I want I can get by stealing, and if not, oh well I can do without it. You'll never  
catch me ripping out my eye or strangling myself to become wise. Wisdom comes to us all  
if you live long enough and I have time to wait for it to happen naturally. Not to mention  
the fact that once Odin lost an eye, he damaged his good looks. Lucky for him he was  
married to Frigga at the time, else he'd have had to pay a Vanir girl to be his wife. Ah well,  
no one ever said my blood brother had much in the way of brains. Wisdom, yes, but that's  
not the same thing.

I said that then, never knowing what the Norns—those meddlesome harridans!—had  
in store for me. For my peaceful bachelor existence was about to end. Remember when I  
said people think I have no heart? Or that I would never risk my heart again? Well, I lied.  
About not risking my heart, that is. For there would come a time when I would lose my  
heart not once, but twice.

The first time was to a child, the second to a woman. Shall I tell you how it  
happened? Yes? Very well, pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of mead or whatever, and  
keep still. I don't like to repeat myself.

**A/N: This story is based a great deal upon the Norse myths featuring Loki, however, some of them have been altered to fit Loki's personal accounts, so be aware that they won't always follow the original Norse tales, though I've done my best to stick to major tales. Anything else that happens is my own creation. **


	2. A Cry in the Dark

**A Cry in the Dark**

It happened very early in the morning, before the sun had time to peek two rays  
above the horizon. There was frost on the ground and the wind had a nasty bite to it even  
wrapped as I was in fur and woolens. I hurried from the house to the barn, hissing the words  
to a get warm quick spell between my chattering teeth. I hate the cold, absolutely hate it.

Which makes it even more idiotic that I would ever aid the frost giants against Odin and my  
fellow Aesir. Because with the frost giants comes eternal winter.

The spell cut the chill of the wind long enough for me to slip inside the steamy barn  
and light the lamps with my flicker spell. That's a fancy name for a light spell, a simple  
focusing of will and power that I can do in my sleep. Once the lights were on, I could attend  
to the task of feeding and grooming and cleaning out my animals' stalls.

The barn was one of the few places I did not use magic to aid me in chores, since I  
liked working with my animals. See, I'm not truly lazy, at least not where it matters. And  
lifting hay and mucking out stalls isn't easy. But it builds muscle and the work keeps me  
warm.

"You're late," Heror whinnied, stamping a hoof impatiently. "Where's my oats?"

"Give me a blasted minute, you ingrate," I shot back, removing my mittens and  
blowing on my fingers.

"Is it really that cold out there?" bleated Olga from her warm byre.

"Probably not. You know how he is whenever a little cold spell happens," my horse  
snorted. He's a big black fellow, close to sixteen hands, with some Arab blood in him. That  
makes him fast as the devil but also damned arrogant.

I shot a warning glare at him. "Excuse me? Did I just hear somebody volunteer to  
spend the night in the pasture? We'll see how cold it is then, won't we?" I inquired sweetly.

Heror, being part Arab, loathes the cold nearly as much as I do. He whickered in  
alarm, saying quickly, "Ah now don't get in a snit, Loki. I wasn't serious."

Olga merely snorted. She has no fear of the cold, since she's a Norwegian long-  
haired goat and bred to endure cold.

"That's what I thought," I said, picking up the pitchfork and climbing into the hayloft  
to throw hay down into their mangers.

While they ate, I busied myself mucking out their stalls, throwing the soiled straw  
into a wheelbarrow. Here, I must admit, I cheated a bit. For I had a spell on that  
wheelbarrow that transports the manure out to my compost heap. Once that was done I  
spread fresh straw about, making it nice and thick so they didn't get hoof rot and such.

"Loki, am I ever going to get my oats this morning?" Heror whinnied plaintively.

"And how bout my salad?" Olga reminded me. She always got fresh carrots and  
lettuce in the morning from my garden. "Blessed gods, the service we get around here!"

"Is better than any you'd get elsewhere, you carping old goat." I frowned. "Keep  
your beard on, nanny."

Olga rolled her eyes at me and tried to snag my sleeve as I went by, an old trick of  
hers. I twitched my sleeve out of the way and went to the bin where her salad greens were  
stored. The bin had a cold spell on it to keep the greens from rotting. I took out an armful  
of fresh baby carrots and shredded lettuce and rutabagas, sprinkled some brown sugar on it  
and carried it to her. "Breakfast, Lady Impatience!"

She dove on it like a starving wolf.

"You're welcome," I muttered and she mumbled something around a mouthful of  
lettuce that might have been a thank you.

Then I went and filled Heror's oat bucket, mixing the oats with a half a cup of sweet  
molasses. I poured the sticky mess into his trough, spoke a word to clean the bucket and  
refill it with cool water and began to groom the burrs and tangles out of his mane and tail.

He nuzzled me in thanks and then settled to eat while I groomed. This was our usual  
ritual in the mornings. Only that morning he had more than the usual amount of burrs in his  
coat and it took me extra time to get them out.

"Damn, Heror, what did you do, roll in the thistle patch?" I grumbled as I untangled  
yet another burr from his tail.

"I told you to cut those hedges back," he reminded me smugly through a mouthful  
of oats. "I can't help it if the pasture's full of thistles."

"You can help rolling in them," I sighed.

"Can't. My coat itches when it's growing in for winter."

I shook my head and set my hands to detangling another knot. Usually I was careful  
not to pull, since Heror's thin-skinned and sensitive. But that day I was irritable and yanked  
a bit too hard.

"Hey!" Heror squealed. "Damn it, Loki, that hurt!"

"Sorry. But this one's stubborn."

"You yank my tail like that one more time and I'm gonna kick your teeth out," the  
stallion threatened, half cocking a hoof. "We'll see how well you smirk with your front  
teeth missing."

"Stop being such a baby," I ordered, smacking him lightly on the rump. "I'm almost  
done."

He swung his head about to examine his tail. "I'm surprised I still _have_ a tail left the  
way you were yanking."

I picked up his long flowing tail and stuck the end in his face. "Quit complaining  
you ungrateful animal. Without me you'd look like a scrub." A scrub is a sorry excuse for  
a horse, ugly and skinny and not worth anything.

Heror laid his ears back. "A scrub? I'll have you know I come from the bloodlines  
of kings! I was the pride of the Sultan of Majipoor's stable."

"Yeah, I know, seeing as how I was the one who stole you from there," I said, rolling  
my eyes. "Now spare me the litany, O Impeccable One, and just eat your oats."

"I will if you're done pulling my hair out," my stallion sulked.

"For now," I answered, then continued rubbing him down.

Despite what it might sound like, Heror loves his grooming sessions and so do I.  
There's nothing quite as relaxing as grooming a horse.

I finished up quickly though, because Olga was whining about how full her milk bag  
was and didn't I know I wasn't supposed to spend all my time with my spoiled stallion.

I took the milking pail and my stool and went to her. "Relax, nanny, I'm not going  
to forget you," I chuckled, scratching her between her small horns.

"Better not. Or there goes your milk for breakfast," she warned. "And so help me,  
magician, if you squeeze too hard I'll kick you into next week."

"Lady," I scowled, eyeing her hooves. Heror I trusted not to kick me, but Olga  
wasn't above stomping me just for spite. "That hoof of yours comes near any part of me and  
I'll walk out of here and let you milk yourself."

That knocked her attitude out of her quick enough. From what she's told me, a full  
udder is quite painful after awhile. She was good as gold for me then, and I was careful not  
to squeeze too hard.

One thing I will say about Olga. Ornery as she is, she gives the best thick cream and  
the sweetest milk in Asgard. And the cheese and butter made from her milk was delicious.

Once a week a servant came down from Valhalla to buy some from me for the rest of the  
immortals up there. For that alone I'll put up with her attitude.

I had just about filled my pail when I heard what sounded like a wail coming from  
outside. "What was that?" I asked, frowning, trying to place where I'd heard that sound  
before.

"What?" Olga asked, switching her tail.

"It sounded like someone screaming," I replied.

"Where? I didn't hear anything," the goat mumbled, still munching her carrots.

"How could you, you chew so loud?" came Heror's neigh.

"Not as loud as you talk, you bag of wind," Olga snorted. "Did you hear anything,  
O Desert Fox?"

"Um, I thought I heard something like a cat," Heror covered for himself hastily.  
"Isn't that right, Loki?"

"Something like that," I muttered, taking the pail and putting the stool back where  
it belonged.

"Maybe it was just the wind," Olga said sensibly. "Sometimes that can sound like  
a cat crying."

I nodded. She was probably right. It was unseasonably windy this morning. I  
opened the barn door and bid my friends farewell for the morning. I would return to let  
them out to graze later in the afternoon. Now I was hungry and I wanted my breakfast.

Again came that high-pitched cry, like an animal in pain. "What in the Nine Hells  
. . .?" I looked about the yard but could see nothing out of the ordinary. I thought about  
calling "Here kitty, kitty . . ." but feared I would sound like an idiotic mortal and so I kept  
my mouth shut.

Instead I continued back up the path with my milk, gritting my teeth at the renewed  
force of the wind. Tendrils of auburn hair blew into my eyes and for one moment I could  
not see my own front porch. Then I reached up and brushed away the hair and saw a strange  
oblong basket sitting smack in front of my door.

_Oh, that explains it. One of the servants from Valhalla must have left a kitten here  
as payment for last week's cheese and butter_, I thought. Though that was unusual, for most  
times Odin paid me with coin. Still, I'd not complain, I'd been meaning to get a cat to keep  
me company.

I opened the door, putting the milk inside. Then I bent down to undo the ties on the  
basket and have a look at the kitten. It squalled again. "Calm down," I said. "I'll have you  
out of there in a minute you little snip."

I slipped the last leather thong free and lifted the lid of the basket, ready to catch the  
kitten.

Only there was no kitten inside. There was only a bundle of rabbit skins. "Huh? Is  
this some kind of joke?" I said aloud. "Where's the cat?"

The rabbit skins stirred and I peeled one back, thinking the kitten was probably  
trapped beneath them. Except something grabbed my thumb as I did so and squealed. I  
nearly fell over.

"Gods and hells!" I swore. "You're no cat. You're a _baby_!"

The baby stared up at me, beseeching me from eyes the color of cornflowers. Our  
eyes met and I was lost. Then she, for it was a little girl, grinned, a grin full of sunshine and  
love and the ice I'd sheathed my heart in melted like a spring thaw.

"Let's get you inside where it's warm, okay?" I asked, gently removing my finger  
from her little fist. I scooped up the basket and carried it inside, slamming the door with my  
foot.

Instantly, Ava appeared before me in a whirl of sparks and the aroma of baking  
bread. "Oh Master, what has you got there? It looks like a little baby." She peered into the  
basket and cooed in delight. "Oh, how beautiful! What are you going to do with her, sir?"

"I have no idea," I admitted.

**Poor Loki! Is he in for a shock! And how did you like Heror and Olga?**


	3. And Baby Makes Three

**And Baby Makes Three**

That was the understatement of the century, now that I think back on it. For I had  
absolutely no experience with children of any kind. And I sure as blazes wasn't going to use  
my own childhood as a model. The only things I knew about them were from watching  
mortals tend their kids, namely that you fed it when it cried, cleaned it when it needed it, and  
held it until it slept.

"Ava, do you know anything about babies?" I asked, hoping to be let off the hook.

"No, Master. Not a thing. Us Nisses don't have babies like this. We are born from  
acorns, mostly grown."

Wonderful. I almost asked her if there was an acorn big enough for me to shove this  
baby in. I checked the impulse, because it was hardly the kid's fault that whoever had left  
her here didn't know that I was a mere man alone.

"Master, where did she come from?"

"The moon," I muttered, removing more of the rabbit skins, since it was very warm  
in the kitchen by the hearth, which is where I'd put the basket.

"Really? How'd she get there?"

"It's an expression, Ava!" I groaned. Nisses. They can be so literal. "Look, go and  
make some tea and porridge, okay? I'm hungry and so is she, from the way she's howling."

For the baby was crying, those harsh feed-me-right-blasted-now wails that every  
mother has heard ten hundred times. I winced and shook the basket gently.

"Hey, sweetheart, no need to scream," I purred, using my best gentle tone and giving  
her my infallible smile that made all the women sigh.

She could have cared less. Her little face was beet red now and she sounded like  
a roomful of scalded cats.

Ava had her hands over her ears. "Master, make her stop!"

"How?" I snapped. "Odin's bloody eye, I don't know what she eats."

"Milk," the Nis panted. "Babies drink milk from their mother's, uh, breasts."

"Oh, great! That helps a lot. What do you suggest I do? Grow a pair?"

"How am I supposed to know!" Ava wailed over the baby's cries. "I just clean  
houses. I don't know nothing about no mortal or Aesir babies."

_Think, Loki_, I ordered myself. _Short of going up to Valhalla and hauling out Frigga  
to nurse this baby, what can you do?_ The obvious answer was sitting in front of me in a pail.  
Olga's milk was plenty nourishing. It was good enough for me, it would be good enough for  
this baby. "Ava, go up to my tower and fetch me a small glass bottle and a pair of calfskin  
gloves," I ordered. "Hurry! She's getting worse."

Olga's teat, but how could something so small scream so _loud_? They could probably  
hear her all the way in Midgard. I tried to hush her without success by giving her my finger  
to gnaw on. She sucked on it for about two seconds, got nothing, and spat it out. Then she  
gave me a look of utter bewilderment and screamed her lungs out.

Ava returned with the items I'd requested in a flash, and I set about rigging a bottle.  
I'd done this once before for orphan lambs, if it worked for them it should for a baby. I  
filled the glass bottle with warm milk and fastened the makeshift nipple on it, sealing it with  
a soft word of magic. There!

Then I picked up the baby, who squirmed and howled even more in my arms. "Settle  
down," I told her sternly, and cradled her inexpertly in the crook of my arm. Now, how had  
all the mortal women I'd seen do this? I wondered, propping her little head with its  
screaming mouth on my arm and letting my hand cradle her bottom. Which was wet, I  
realized with a grimace. Ah, hells. First things first. I stuck the bottle in her little mouth  
and wonder of wonders, she shut up and began to suck.

Ava and I breathed twin sighs of relief.

"What kind of idiot leaves a baby on my doorstep?" I wondered as the baby drank.  
"Don't they know I've got no wife?"

Actually, I've a pretty good idea who it was that put her there, but I've got no proof,  
so I won't bother to mention names.

The baby was guzzling the milk like there was no tomorrow and I wondered how  
long it'd been since someone had fed her. From the way she went at the bottle it looked like  
a week. I had no idea how old she was, though she didn't look as small as some of the  
newborn mortal children I'd observed. She was plump with rosy skin and a soft cap of blond  
down on her head. I had her wrapped in a rabbit skin, but underneath it she was dressed in  
a very soft little tunic. Clearly someone had taken time to weave this for her, so she hadn't  
always been neglected.

Abruptly she spat out the nipple and began to cry again. I tried giving her the bottle  
again, but she turned her head away and howled. "Now what's wrong?" I demanded. I tried  
to recall what, if anything, I'd seen mothers do with crying babies. I recalled seeing them  
holding the baby on their shoulder and patting the kid on the back. I shrugged and tried it.  
Almost instantly I was rewarded with a huge burp.

"Guess I can't blame you for crying," I said, rubbing her back again. She hiccuped  
a bit and burped again. "Feel better now?"

She gurgled softly, and I fed her the remainder of the bottle, burping her afterwards.

Then I had to change her, and I set about doing so with haste, wiping her with warm  
water and a soft cloth, then wrapping her little bottom in a clean white cloth that was inside  
the basket. She squirmed a bit under my clueless handling, but eventually I got everything  
back on and had settled her in my arms. I found a small piece of parchment in the bottom  
of the basket and I opened it and read it eagerly, hoping it would tell me where I could take  
the little mite.

By the time I'd finished it I was in a red-faced seething temper, and spitting every  
swear word I'd ever learned.

Here is what the letter said.

My name is Helga. No one wants me. Please take me in, I'm an orphan without any  
family. Thank you.

That was it. No I'm so sorry, could you take my baby, just her name and the words  
no one wants me and the fact that she was an orphan. Reading that paper made my head  
ache.

I took another look at the sleeping baby. She could have been anyone's child, from  
a humble servant to a prince's by blow. She was probably half-Vanir or Aesir, I couldn't tell  
which. She was also, I sensed this instinctively, half-mortal. Which was why, no doubt,  
she'd been abandoned. Whichever parent was an immortal had probably decided against  
raising a weak half-mortal child and had thought it was easier to just throw her to the  
wolves. Plus, she was a girl, and most of the randy Aesir of my acquaintance wanted  
nothing to do with a daughter. They thought girls were nothing but a burden. All they cared  
about was raising big strong sons that could lift whole oxen on their shoulders and drink,  
fight, and wench all day and night. Spare me, please! Where did they think sons would  
come from if there were no women, I ask you? Maybe from acorns. It wouldn't surprise me.

Worse than even that was the fact that she was Gifted. Like me, she had magic in  
her veins. Small as she was, I could sense the power in her. A magician always knows  
another of his kind. Had her unknown parents known that? Was that why they'd dumped  
her here? Because they wanted nothing to do with a witch-child?

_Half-Aesir witch brat._ I could hear Hefrin speaking those words as if it were  
yesterday. It made me as angry now as it did then. More, if you want the truth. For here  
was yet another half-bred child of magic, unwanted and abandoned. Just the way I had been.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the dark memories of my childhood, but they  
came flooding back with vivid clarity, and they tore open my heart the same way they'd  
done then. "Not again," I heard myself growling. "_Never _again!"

"Never again what?" came Ava's plaintive query from the hearth where she was  
making oatmeal.

"Never again will a child be treated the way I was," I finished softly. "Not if I can  
help it. We have no choice, my friend. No one wants her. It says so right here," I thrust the  
parchment under Ava's nose.

"Does that mean what I think it does?" the Nis squeaked, flashing me a look of  
astonishment.

"Uh huh. It means we're keeping her." I stared down at her and smiled. "You won't  
ever be Nobody's Daughter, little one. From now on you're mine."

"Helga Lokisdotter," Ava sang.

"No. Not Helga. She's not keeping the name they gave her." I said firmly. "They  
don't deserve to name a child after they've cast her out to die. I'm calling her Bella. It  
means beautiful in Italian. Look at her, Ava. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Oh, yes. As beautiful as the stars of summer."

I kissed the baby gently on the forehead. "So then. I rename you Bella Lokisdotter.  
And you'll never want for anything ever, that I promise you. I'll be both mother and father  
to you, child. And may the Norns help us both."

Bella was unimpressed by my declaration, remaining sleeping through it. That didn't  
matter. I had made a promise and I would keep it. It was the most important promise I had  
ever made. I only prayed I'd never regret it. I needn't have worried. For despite all the  
times my daughter has made me want to pull out my hair or throttle her, I never regretted  
making that vow. Not once. For I loved her like my own flesh and blood.

That said, I placed her back inside her basket, which would act as her cradle till I  
could make her a real one. Then I began to eat my long-awaited breakfast.

Stupid dumbass idiots, I thought angrily as I ate, glancing at the basket from time to  
time. How could they just give away a poor thing like her, as if she was nothing, like a piece  
of trash? How? She's healthy and adorable, how could anyone NOT want her? Thor's  
Beard, but all she did was_ look_ at me and I fell in love with her. Me, the Trickster! The Thief  
of Asgard. How's that for irony?

It would have been funny if anyone else had told me about it. But I didn't feel like  
laughing. I felt like crying. _Poor little thing. Nobody gave a damn about you, did they?  
_Only that was wrong. Because I did. I cared very much. And I didn't even know why.

* * * * * *  
I'd thought my routine wouldn't change much with this new arrival. I must have been  
drunk. Because Bella's arrival changed everything. For the first time in my life I was  
responsible for someone other than myself. It was damn exhausting. She woke me up in the  
middle of the night because she was wet and then again some two to three hours later  
because she was hungry. I learned to sleep in quick snatches, like a cat, one ear always  
tuned to where her cradle rested near my bed. I also learned to make a bottle ahead of time  
so I could feed her at midnight before she woke up half of Asgard screaming.

Ava saved my sanity many times during those first weeks, helping me change her and  
make clothes for her and all the other thousand things a new parent has to learn to do. She  
loved Bella as much as I did, and she would watch her for me when I had to leave to go to  
Valhalla to trade for things, and steal others when I felt like it.

How my Aesir companions howled when they learned I was now the parent of a  
foundling. "Feed me, Mama!" Tyr mocked, prancing about holding a doll to his breast.  
"I'm hungwy!"

"Why aren't you wearing a skirt and a shawl today, Loki?" Thor snickered into his  
beard.

"Why aren't you?" I shot back, bristling. "You looked pretty tempting in a veil and  
a corset last time, your hair all curled and perfumed, when we went to fetch your hammer  
from the giants. Or don't you remember that, Thora darling?" I simpered and fluttered my  
lashes at him.

"I did _not_!" he blustered, getting even redder. It's always bothered him when I refer  
to that little escapade, he thinks the fact he had to disguise himself as a woman to get into  
the giants' stronghold is demeaning. I don't know what the big deal is. Men's clothes,  
women's clothes, they're just clothes. Underneath you're the same as always.

"Oh yes, you did, sweetheart! I was there. And all those hairy giants were drooling  
over your shapely backside and your lovely calf eyes! Strong as an ox and stupid too, just  
the way we like 'em!" I grunted, imitating one of the giants at the wedding feast.

"You calling me dumb?" growled the Thunder Lord.

"As an ass," I sneered, my temper sparking. Then I brayed like a donkey. "Go home,  
Thor. Your husband's calling."

The others roared with laughter. Thor went beet red and clenched both fists. "Shut  
up, Loki!"

"Make me, jackass!" I cried recklessly, and deliberately wiggled my rump at him.  
"C'mon, little donkey, kick me."

Thor swung his foot, but I was prepared for him and I sprang up and somersaulted  
behind him, landing neatly on both feet. Then I conjured a switch and smacked him across  
his big fat backside. "Naughty donkey!" I scolded. "You shouldn't kick your master," I  
sang.

Thor roared and spun about. "Loki, when I catch you . . .!"

"Which will be never!" I laughed, and tapped him on the leg with the switch before  
I was away, dancing right across the table, grinning my signature grin.

"Want to hear a song, fellows?" I called, doing flips in and out of the mead pitchers.  
"Once there was a little jackass and his name was Thor . . .Hee haw hee haw!"

Thor was knocking everything off the table by then, trying his damndest to hit me.  
I, meanwhile, had no trouble avoiding him, he was as slow as molasses. I was like a flash  
of light, now on the table, now under it, singing my newly made-up verse with all the fire  
of an epic. And the other Aesir were laughing their heads off.

Thor, the stupid bully, was still trying to grab me, even though he might as well have  
tried to cage the wind. "Had enough, O Prince of Asses?" I jeered, whacking him again  
across the rump. I couldn't resist, it was such a tempting target.

He swung at me and missed. "I'll be asking you that soon enough, Loki, when you  
tire of that squalling brat and dump her back out in the snow where she belongs," the  
Thunder God growled.

"What did you say?" I hissed, my voice gone deadly soft. Around me, the others quit  
laughing and grew still, eyeing me warily. For I was not amused.

"You heard me. She's nothing but some Vanir's bastard, why should we care what  
happens to her? You'll see in a month or so, and let the wolves have her like you should  
have done in the first place."

I slammed him in the jaw. I was so furious I didn't bother to pull my blow, and in  
fact I augmented it with magic. Thor flew through the air and smashed right through the  
wall of the hall. I followed, in a red-faced fury. "Never say that again about my daughter,  
you stupid bastard! You hear me?" I screamed at the dazed Lord of Thunder. "Or so help  
me, I'll tear off your head and shove it up your ass."

Somehow my hands were about his throat and I think I would have strangled the big  
idiot if Tyr and Baldur hadn't dragged me off him. I fought them like a madman until Odin  
shouted, "Loki, get hold of yourself!"

Then I was calm again, the fury within me quenched. "You can let me go now," I  
said to the other immortals. They did, staring at me as if they'd never seen me before. I had  
never lost my temper like that before. I had always prided myself on my cool head. But I  
found my control was next to nothing when my baby was insulted.

"I think you broke his jaw," murmured Modi accusingly.

"Good. Maybe next time he'll learn when to shut up," I snapped, then I strode away  
from the hall trailing blue and silver sparks. I was still seething. The nerve of that bumbling  
oaf, saying I should have let the wolves have her! I was very nearly sick at the thought. My  
precious Bella, food for wolves? Not while I have breath in my body.

I vowed then and there to have nothing more to do with my relatives. From now on  
they could cure their own hangovers and indigestion. And fix their own stupid cuts and  
bruises. I was disowning them completely. Let them go whining to Gird or one of the other  
giantesses for potions and bandages.

I would never forgive them for that terrible insult. And I knew the rest of them  
thought what Thor was stupid enough to say aloud. I could read their minds and I knew they  
regarded my daughter as little better than a thrall because she, like me, was an orphan.

I cursed them all the way back to my house.

And I didn't speak to any of them again for three years.

**So, what did you think of Loki's new addition? The poor guy's so clueless, he has NO idea what he's in for! *chuckles wickedly***

**Reviews are greatly appreciated and they take two seconds . . .so REVIEW WON"T YOU?**


	4. Truth and Myth

**Truth and Myth**

**A/N: This chapter is long, but I wanted to put most of the legends in a single chapter here, so please read them, some of them are extremely funny as Loki tells them!**

I was around eight centuries or so when Bella came to me, by Asgard's time, that is.  
Time in Asgard flows differently than in Midgard, a year in the mortal realm is equal to  
maybe a few minutes in my homeland. I had already most of those adventures the skalds tell  
by then, like getting back Thor's magic hammer, Mjolnir, from the giants, and getting spun  
gold from the dwarves to replace Sif's hair, which I'd cut off because she'd said she'd rather  
be bald than marry me. Sif's always been a spoiled brat, but I felt bad afterward and agreed  
to replace her hair with a golden wig that would make her the envy of every other lady in  
Asgard. (It was). She then offered to marry me, but I refused, not wanting to shackle myself  
to such a fickle brat. She married Thor instead, don't ask me why. Maybe because she  
knows all she has to do is flutter her eyelashes and he'll give her whatever she wants. That  
wouldn't work on me.

In fact, most of the great treasures of the Aesir were gotten for them by me. I stole  
Brisengamen, Freya's magical girdle of beauty, from the fire giants of Muspelheim. I also  
tricked the dwarf smith Dvalin into wagering Mjolnir, won Frey a magical boat in a game  
of cards with the hag Thryll, and gave birth to Sleipnir, Odin's eight-legged horse. Yes, you  
heard me.** I** gave birth to a magical horse.

One of my big talents is shape shifting. I can change myself into just about any  
animal I want. Except I don't do birds much, because flying makes me sick. Once I shift  
back from bird shape, I puke my guts up. Embarrassing as hell. But it only happens when  
I use my own power to transform to a bird. Using something else, such as Freya's falcon  
cloak, doesn't affect me that way. Why? Haven't got a clue.

But back to the Sleipnir incident. That happened way back when I was a young and  
arrogant magician and desperate to prove myself to my mother's Aesir relatives. I'd spent  
my youth honing my powers in secret in the forest on the border between two kingdoms, but  
I was getting lonely and I wanted, the same way everyone does, to belong somewhere. But  
I didn't know the names of my parents and could hardly march up to Odin and the rest of the  
noble Aesir and announce that I was their long-lost relative. For one thing, who'd believe  
me? For another, I had too much pride to throw myself upon the mercy of an Aesir lord like  
that. So I resolved to do something to impress them, so they'd invite me into Valhalla as one  
of them.

Now, Odin was trying to build a huge wall around Valhalla and its surroundings to  
keep out the damn giants who were continually raiding from Jotunheim, carrying off sheep,  
cattle, and pretty Aesir maidens. They ate the sheep and cattle, knocked up the maids, and  
then demanded Odin pay them tribute to cross into their land to trade with them to boot.  
Some nerve, huh? Odin put his head together with Thor and some of the other Aesir warriors  
and came up with brilliant solution of building—you guessed it- a _wall!_ And it only took  
them six months before they came up with that gem. Must have been a world record.

Anyway, Odin said let's build a wall fellows, but he forgot that his Aesir lords  
weren't builders and had no clue how to build a sandcastle, let alone a wall capable keeping  
giants out. The top builder at the time was a fire giant named Snorri, and he and his great  
stallion, Svladfari, were known through Asgard. They'd worked for the Aesir before,  
building Valhalla and some of the other immortals' homes. But their work didn't come  
cheap. To build the wall about Valhalla, Snorri demanded Odin give him the power of the  
sun and the moon and throw the beauteous Freya, Goddess of Love and Beauty, into the  
bargain.

Freya had hysterics, absolutely refused to even kiss Snorri, and said the only way the  
fire giant was going to have his way with her was over her dead body. Or was that _with_ her  
dead body? Anyhow, you get the point. Odin was between a rock and a hard place then.  
No Freya meant no wall and the raiding continued. He tried to make a deal with Snorri, but  
he's not as clever as I am, and only managed to get the giant to agree to a time limit. If  
Snorri didn't finish the wall within three months, he wouldn't get paid and the Aesir would  
have their wall anyhow. But if he finished before time, he would get all he'd asked for in  
the first place.

The bargain was struck in front of witnesses, and the fire giant began his work. A  
month went by and Snorri was halfway done, he worked day and night, assisted by his  
faithful steed, who could nudge stones into place with his back hooves. Odin was ripping  
out his beard, Thor was getting drunk, and Freya spent half her time cursing everyone and  
the other half threatening to commit suicide. It was a real mess.

Enter yours truly. I'd heard all about this wager, of course, for it was common  
knowledge up and down Asgard. And a blind idiot could tell that Odin had been tricked  
royally. Snorri was going to finish the wall in under three months the way things were  
going. And then he'd end up with magic he shouldn't have in the first place and poor Freya  
would hang herself. Now I've always had a soft spot for women, especially pretty ones, and  
I couldn't let sweet Freya become a giant's corpse bride. Not to mention that this was the  
perfect opportunity to win a place for myself among my relatives.

So I came into the hall at Valhalla and told Odin I could help him out with his giant  
problem. The other Aesir thought that was hilarious. "_You're _gonna help us deal with  
Snorri? A little fellow like you?" snickered Thor. "What are you gonna do to him, step on  
his toes and ask him to go home, pretty please?"

"He'd use you for a toothpick, Firehair!" brayed Tyr.

"My name's Loki," I snapped. "And I have something none of you brutes have."

"What's that, a smart mouth?" demanded Modi.

"Magic. And a brain bigger than the size of a pea," I informed him with a smirk.

"You calling me an idiot, pipsqueak?" Modi growled.

"Now why would I do that? You're doing just fine on your own," I shot back. "Do  
you always insult yourself like this? How sad!"

"I'm gonna tie that tongue of yours in knots, boy."

"You mean the way yours is from using all those big words?" I sneered. "I was using  
four syllable words when I was six, you dimwitted drunken offspring of a diseased dragon's  
ass." Ha! Bet you can't say that six times really fast.

By this time Modi's eyes were bugging out, Thor was scratching his head, and Tyr  
wanted to know what a diseased dragon had to do with anything. You see what I've had to  
put up with? It's enough to give me hives. Odin, however, was laughing into his sleeve.

Before Modi could squash me into the floor, Odin held up a hand. "Modi, leave him  
be. You can pound the snot out of him if he doesn't figure out a way to keep Snorri from  
finishing that wall. Until then, keep your hands off." Then he looked at me shrewdly.  
"Here's my offer to you, Loki the son of Nobody. Stop the giant from finishing his work and  
I'll grant you any favor you want. You've got two months to come up with something. Fail  
and I let Modi and the rest of them make mincemeat out of you, you insolent little scamp."

I narrowed my eyes. "You did say _anything_, didn't you, my lord?"

"Within reason," Odin revised hastily. "I won't give my throne up for you or  
anything like that. And no asking for Freya either, she's not in the mood to be anybody's  
trophy wife."

"Too bad. I wouldn't have minded a night or two with the little wildcat," I sighed,  
for that thought had crossed my mind. But I wasn't ready for a wife, even one as gorgeous  
as Freya. Women like that are always too demanding. "Don't worry, I'll think up a suitable  
reward for my services."

"Better worry about how you're going to fix Snorri, little warlock," Modi said with  
a snort. "Or else your ass is mine. And I'm gonna love kicking it from one end of Asgard  
to the other."

"Right. I'm going to make you eat those words, Modi Thorsson. Just wait. My  
magic is a match for any giant any day of the week."

After that I decided it was time to leave, before my quick tongue got me into more  
trouble. So I headed out to the wall to observe Snorri and see if I could get him to reveal any  
secrets.

I made myself look younger and smaller than I was, about ten years old, because I  
had learned long ago that adults will tell children just about anything because they think kids  
can't figure out things for themselves.

"Hey, Mister!" I yelled up to the sweating giant. "How'd you build this wall so  
fast?"

Snorri patted another boulder into place before he glanced down at me. He was  
about ten feet tall and built like a mountain. And he smelled like a dungheap. It was all I  
could do not to gag. "Go play somewhere else, kid. I'm busy."

I hopped up on a stack of rocks, and gave him my most pleading look. "But I want  
to watch you. Please can't I stay?"

"I'm no babysitter," Snorri grumbled. "Don't you have chores to do or something?"

"Not really. Watching you is much more interesting than milking goats. How do you  
lift all those big rocks so fast? And lay them so neat on top of each other? I think it's really  
amazing. I want to be just like you when I grow up," I prattled, hero-worship dripping from  
my tongue.

Snorri ate it up like a cat lapping up cream. "You're kinda skinny to lift rocks like  
this yet, kid. But maybe when you're older . . ."

"But how do you get all of these rocks in the first place?"

"Well, I have the help of my horse over there, Svladfari. He carts the stones from  
the quarry over here and then he helps me place them. He's worth ten ordinary workers and  
I couldn't do without him. He's the reason I can get this wall up so fast. He's gonna make  
me a rich man and win me a bride too."

Easy as taking candy from a baby, I thought. Now all I had to do was come up with  
a way to put the horse out of commission. There were several ways I could do this. One  
way was to hamstring him, making him too lame to drag the stones. Another way was to  
make him too sick to work. Colic is a common ailment among horses and the quickest way  
to put a horse down.

But I couldn't bear to do something like that to the magnificent animal. I love horses  
and cutting a hamstring would lame him permanently, then Snorri would probably put him  
down. And colic killed a horse slowly and painfully. The big stallion didn't deserve to die.  
I mean, _he_ never asked to build a wall around Valhalla.

Then I thought about stealing him, only I had no way of hiding a horse that big and  
I wasn't too sure if I could control him once I did have him. He was a giant's mount, after  
all. I bit my lip and pondered. What would serve as a distraction to a horse?

Food, certainly. But too much food would make him colic. And once it was gone  
he would return to his master. Then I recalled Snorri's comment about getting a bride.  
What about a mare? I've never known a stallion yet who wouldn't follow a mare in season  
anywhere.

So back I went to Valhalla to the stables to find a mare in season. Only there were  
no mares in heat at that time. And horses don't come into season but twice a year. It was  
the wrong time. I cursed angrily. The plan was perfect except for that one drawback. If  
only . . .

It was then that I had my brilliant idea to shift myself into a mare. One who was in  
heat, and who then could lead Snorri's stallion a merry dance through the meadows of  
Asgard. I'd distract him so well he'd forget he ever knew Snorri, I vowed.

Which is exactly what I did. But my trick worked too well. For there is a law  
concerning shape shifting. The longer you wear a shape, the harder it is to switch back to  
your true form. I knew the dangers of remaining in a shape too long, but in my haste to win  
my wager, I ignored them.

I spent so much time as a mare enticing Snorri's stallion that I momentarily lost  
myself in mare shape and once that happened I let the stallion mate with me. Not what I'd  
intended at all, but it's very hard to resist certain urges when you're an animal. The instinct  
to procreate is overwhelming, and the stallion was eager and I was available. . . . enough said  
on that subject.

By the time I regained control of my senses, the three months were up and thanks to  
my equine charms, Snorri wasn't done building the wall. So he had to forfeit Freya and the  
power of the sun and the moon and build the wall for free. I allowed his stallion to go back  
and help him, since I'd done what I'd set out to do.

But when I went to change back to my normal form, I learned that I was pregnant.  
Apparently a giant's horse is very fertile. I didn't know what would happen if I changed  
back into a man in that condition, it went against the laws of nature for a man to be pregnant,  
and I might kill myself trying to regain my real form. I had been undone by my own  
cleverness.

So I was stuck in mare's shape until I delivered this foal. If I could have cried, I  
would have. But there was no help for it. My own arrogance had done this to me and now  
I was going to have to suck up and deal with it. Now I didn't want anyone at Valhalla to  
know how stupid I'd been, so I ran far away from there, going west into Vanir country.

There I stayed for months until I birthed the magical steed called Sleipner. That was  
one ordeal I swear by all my ancestors I'll never repeat. Even now I get shivers recalling it.  
It left me with a lifelong respect for women, I'll tell you, and I'm probably the only man on  
the planet who knows exactly how painful being in labor is. I was alone when I gave birth,  
and I can recall begging someone to kill me, and wishing I were mortal so I could die and  
end it all.

But I survived and I had a sturdy eight-legged colt. He was born like that because  
he was the offspring of a giant stallion and a magically changed magician. Sleipnir could  
run on water and air as well as land and he was nearly tireless. He was a steel gray in color  
and very handsome.

Once I'd recovered from the birth I changed back to my true form and fed the little  
octaped with a bottle. He didn't take it too well at first, but I was damned if I was going to  
nurse him too. When he was nearly weaned, I returned to Valhalla to collect my reward.

Odin and I swore an oath of blood brotherhood and I became an official member of  
the Aesir. As a gift, I gave him Sleipnir. Odin loved him and he never asked where I got  
him, thank all the stars. Best of all, my feisty colt kicked Modi's ass all over Valhalla when  
the stupid oaf called me a two-bit trickster son of a dog. Nobody talks like that about  
Sleipnir's mother and gets away with it. I never laughed so hard as I did that day. Just  
seeing Modi get what he deserved made all the pain I'd gone through worthwhile.

Why then didn't I use my powers to change shape when I acquired little Bella, you  
ask? First because my talent is only good for shifting into animal form and second because  
the only way I'd be able to nurse a baby as a woman would be if I'd just given birth and  
there is no way in nine hells I'd ever go through _that_ again. Once was plenty for this  
immortal's lifetime.

I told that story to Bella when she was older to illustrate the dangers of shapeshifting,  
and she thought it the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Though she promised me on her  
immortal name she'd never reveal it to anyone. Somehow mortals found out though. I guess  
it's true what they say—you can't keep a juicy bit of gossip down.

Incidentally, that legend happens to be true, though most of the stories humans tell  
about me are exaggerated or just plain wrong. It's a skald's license to embellish, embroider,  
and in some cases, just make up stories. I don't really mind, since some of the additions  
they invent to my life are pretty amusing. And the best ones always have a grain of truth to  
them, like a good lie. But there are a few legends that are pure fabrication and do some  
serious harm to my reputation. Now those I do take offense at, and have long since punished  
the idiots responsible for spreading them. I cursed their tongues so all they can do is stutter  
and when they do manage to get a sentence out, all they can speak is the truth. So let me set  
the record straight about a few things. After all, I'm the Master of Mischief, not Murder!

The biggest blow to my reputation is the Baldur story, the one that paints me as the  
murderer of Odin's golden boy, Baldur. But I'll get to that later. Remember when I  
mentioned that I had no wife? That was true. I've never been married. Guess that must have  
offended some skald's sense of symmetry or whatever, because now they've gone and given  
me not one, but three wives! Hopping hells, I could never handle that many at one time. I'm  
good, but not that good. And as I told you before, marriage scares the blazes out of me.

Don't get me wrong, I like women fine, but as lovers only. I live alone, or at least  
I did before Bella came. But the legends say that my first wife was called Glut and she bore  
me two daughters. Not last time _I _checked. I wouldn't have gone to sleep in that little  
terror's bed if you paid me all the gold in Fafnir the dragon's horde. No man in Asgard  
would. Glut—whose name means Fiery in Norse—is the red-haired, pretty, nasty daughter  
of a minor Aesir lord. She's got the temper of a dragon and is selfish, spoiled, and utterly  
lazy. Her father spent years trying to marry her off to someone, anyone, but even Thor  
wasn't stupid enough to take her on. She's a little bitch, and the only woman I've ever lifted  
a hand to in eight centuries.

Here is how that came about. As I said, Glut's father was desperately trying to rid  
himself of the hellion, but no one was taking the bait. I hadn't been up to Valhalla in a good  
half a year or so, though I knew all the gossip. So I showed up for dinner one day and the  
little snip pegged me as an easy mark. I was the only one at the table she hadn't had a  
chance to practice her wiles on.

But I was wise to her schemes and I utterly ignored her. Now Glut hates being  
ignored more than anything. She loves being the center of attention. My giving her the cold  
shoulder really irritated her. So she decided to teach me a lesson.

Everyone in the hall knows I don't drink much. When I'm drunk my magic goes  
crazy and since I hate not being in control of anything, I rarely have more than three horns  
of mead during the course of an evening. Aesir mead is potent stuff! That night, though, the  
deceitful witch drugged my third horn with a strong sleeping potion. I passed right out in  
the middle of a sentence.

Somebody put me to bed, probably Odin, in one of the guest rooms, leaving me to  
sleep it off. That was when the sly minx put stage two of her plan into action. Since no man  
would willingly marry her, she resolved to make me an unwilling groom. She jumped into  
bed with me, ripped her clothes, tore her hair and made it look as if we'd been having a good  
romp in bed. Then she went to sleep.

Next morning a servant came to see how I was feeling and discovered me and Glut  
between the sheets together. To add insult to injury, the innocent maid started screaming  
that I'd raped her. Now her scream could wake the dead, and it woke me up like a hot  
poker.

Now I've never forced any woman in my life, and the Norns bear witness the _last  
_woman I'd want in my bed was Glut. But the way things looked, I'd been caught with my  
hand in the honey jar. Her father and some of the others came in to gape, then she ran to  
papa and started sobbing that since I'd compromised her now I had to do the honorable thing  
and marry her.

"Not bloody likely!" I cried, clearing the last fumes of the drugged mead from my  
head. "Odin, I never touched her. I swear by the Norns."

"You did! You did!" Glut shrieked, pointing to her ripped nightgown. "You were  
drunk, so you can't remember." She began to sob piteously.

"Lady, I might have been drunk, but I assure you I'd have remembered taking _you  
_to bed." I said, my eyes flashing. "I don't sleep with scorpions."

"Oh, you vile lying bastard!" she cried, and tried to scratch my face with her nails.

I caught her hands and twisted them behind her back and hissed in her ear, "Quit screwing  
around, you scheming bitch, and tell them the truth, before you make me lose my temper."

She spat in my face. "Papa! He says he won't marry me!"

"Oh yes, you will! You're not gonna bed my daughter and get off so easy, Master  
Mischief. You marry her or else I'm going to cut off your head with this here axe." Glut's  
father blustered.

"Good. Because I'd rather be dead than shackled to a scheming selfish brat like this  
for the rest of my life," I cried. _That_ floored him.

Then I turned to Glut, who was still trying to fight free of my grip. "Stop squirming,  
you wretched brat. I was too drunk last night to put myself to bed, as far as I can remember.  
Does everyone agree to that?" I cast a look around at Odin.

"He's right. I carried him here and he was snoring like the giant Skrymir. Dead to  
the world." Odin confirmed.

"Funny isn't it, that I managed to get drunk on just three horns of mead?" I  
continued. "I don't drink, but even I can handle a few toasts. But I was passed out by the  
third round. I wonder what was in that mead?" Glut was white now and trying to kick me.  
I pinned her foot with my ankle and shook her. "Be still, or I'll bind you with magic."

"Unhand my daughter, you barbarian!" her father cried.

"In a minute, with pleasure," I snapped. "Odin, did anyone else pass out like that  
afterwards? No? I didn't think so. Send a servant to fetch the horn I was using. I'm sure it's  
still lying where I dropped it on the table."

The horn was fetched and, just as I'd thought, there was a white residue of poppy  
powder on the bottom. I displayed it for all to see and told them what it was. "So then, lords  
and ladies, there I was drugged to my eyeballs, and yet I managed to rouse myself enough  
to drag this screeching wildcat into my bed and have my wicked way with her. Look, I can  
barely hold onto her now the way she's fighting, and I'm sober. D'you really think I could  
do so drunk and filled with poppy? Not to mention that all of us know that strong drink  
renders a man incapable of performing in bed." I shot a triumphant grin at Glut, who was  
staring at me in horror.

"Ah, didn't know that, did you, princess? Should have done your homework, you lazy  
child," I tisked at her. "Therefore, it would have been impossible for me to have done as she  
claims. Wouldn't you agree, my lords?"

Slowly, the other Aesir nodded.

Glut burst into tears. "Papa, he's lying! He woke up as I was passing by and he  
grabbed me and he raped me!"

"Nice performance, girl, but it won't fly." I sneered. I gestured at myself. "If I  
hauled you in here and raped you, how come I've still got my pants on?"

Some of the women began to snicker, and I knew I had won. But I was furious as  
hell. I glared right back at Glut's father, who was turning the color of old cheese. "Odin,"  
I said in my sweetest, most deadly tone. "Wouldn't you say that I'm the victim of a cruel  
joke here? This witch here drugged me and then set me up by climbing into bed with me and  
crying rape so I'd be forced into marrying her. And her father went along with it, since he  
can't stand her and wants to be rid of her. I claim reparation for this niding's deed, this stain  
upon my honor."

Odin was smirking. "Granted, Loki."

Glut's father was sputtering in horror. "But-but Odin, I had nothing to do with it! It  
was all her idea! I didn't even know Loki was here last night."

"Papa, how could you!" his darling shrieked.

"Shut up, you stupid sow!" he bellowed. "This is all your fault. He could beggar me  
now, and for what? Norns, why was I ever cursed with such a wretched child?" he moaned.

Now by Aesir law I could demand he pay me a share of gold equal to my outraged  
dignity and he'd have no choice but to give it to me. But I didn't want money. "Are you  
saying you had no knowledge of her activities, Haldir?" I pressed.

"None whatsoever, Loki. I swear it upon the World Tree."

"Then I absolve you of her guilt in this crime," I said magnanimously. "Which  
means you and you alone get to pay the consequences of your actions, lady."

I gave her my best wolfish grin.

She wilted and began whining, "No! Papa, save me! Don't let him turn me into  
anything unnatural."

Haldir winced. "Loki, please . . ."

"Turn you into something? I'd say you were already too many things, girl. A hag,  
a shrew, and a man's worst nightmare. Even my magic can't compete with that," I said and  
the others chuckled loudly. "Do you admit you drugged me and lied about everything?"

"Yes!" she pouted. "I made it all up. I'm sorry, Loki. Now will you let me go?"

"Oh no, princess. Sorry isn't enough this time. You might cozen your father like  
that, but not me. This time you're going to get exactly what you deserve." I glanced at  
Haldir. "Have I permission to punish your daughter, sir?"

"Yes, but no magic and no killing, I beg of you."

"Agreed." Then I hauled her over my knee and gave her the spanking of her life. She  
fought and bit at me, but I was stronger and I didn't scruple to use my strength to pin her  
down. I gave her about ten whacks, and after each one I listed some crime she was guilty  
of. The Aesir watching were quite pleased with my justice, for all of them had been wanting  
to do something like that for ages, but hadn't dared because of Haldir.

By the time I was done, they were laughing fit to die and even Haldir looked pleased  
as punch. The only one who wasn't amused was Glut, who was bawling her pretty head off,  
for real this time. I picked her up and set her before me. "Now then, young lady, might I  
suggest you think twice before trying to play a nasty trick like that again on the Master of  
Mischief?" I said sternly. "Because I always get even."

"I hate you, Loki!" she sobbed.

"Join the club, lady," I laughed, then shoved her toward her father. "Haldir, here's  
your daughter. You know, you'd have saved yourself a lot of embarrassment if you'd done  
that about ten years ago, man."

"I know. Thank you, Loki." Then he took his witch of a daughter back home, where  
she remains to this day. Only she's more agreeable now thanks to my discipline, or so  
Haldir informed me one day.

Wife number two according to the sagas is Angerboda, a giantess witch. Who picks  
her teeth with human finger bones and eats bread made of their blood. Utterly revolting!  
Now there are some really sweet looking giantesses, but Angerboda is not one of them. She  
put the 'Ugh" in ugly. Her face looks worse than a toad's warty behind and the day I marry  
her is the day I put out my eyes. Fenris' teeth, but couldn't they at least let me marry  
somebody gorgeous, like maybe Freya? No, instead I get the Old Hag of the Mountain.  
Thanks, it's always nice to be appreciated.

To add insult to injury they not only have me marrying her, but siring monsters with  
her! As if! Looking at Angerboda fully clothed makes me want to faint, if she ever got naked  
I think I might have a nervous breakdown. Want to know the names of our three children  
according to popular rumor? Jorgmunder the Midgard Serpent, Fenris Wolf, and Hel, Queen  
of the Dead.

Sure, blame me for all the world's ills. Why not throw in the Black Death and taxes  
too while you're at it? Actually, I'm only responsible for one of those horrors. The other two  
I had nothing to do with.

Jorgmunder, the Midgard Serpent, was an experiment of mine gone terribly wrong.  
That much I'll take the blame for. I was experimenting with some new growth potion, trying  
to increase the size of Odin's sheep and cattle. To test it, I fed some to a little water snake  
I'd had in a small tank. He wasn't venomous, and he had nice looking rainbowed scales and  
ate shrimp. The potion worked great. The first day the snake tripled in size. I started  
feeding it mackerel. By the end of the week it was twenty feet long and I had to keep it  
outside in a huge aquarium and feed it tuna. In a month it was some sixty feet long, as thick  
as my body, and it didn't look as if it would ever stop growing. Or eating. It had an appetite  
to rival ten giants.

I tried to reverse the potion, but by then it was too late. Jorgmunder had the magic  
infused into its very bones and I couldn't remove it. It had also slowed its aging down until  
it was almost immortal. And it was quickly outgrowing its aquarium and because it was  
cramped it began to turn nasty.

So I did what I could to make the huge serpent happy. It was my fault it was like this  
in the first place, so the least I could do was to find it a place where its size wouldn't be a  
handicap and where it could get all the food it needed.

So I took it to Midgard and set it free in the ocean. Problem solved, right?

Well, sort of. Once in the sea, Jorgmunder grew to an unheard of one hundred and  
fifty feet long and feasted on whales, seals, and the unfortunate ship that happened by. It  
once ate an entire fleet of Viking longboats for a snack. I'm sure the Irish peasants that were  
going to be raided thanked God that day. But on the whole, Jorgmunder isn't such a bad  
creature, only eternally hungry, though as a snake it only needs to eat about once a week.  
The rest of the time it spends napping at the bottom of the sea or swimming in the swift  
arctic current.

Thor's tangled with the giant serpent a time or two, trying to prove he's the strongest  
wrestler on Midgard or something. He lost. Big surprise. Jorgmunder's a constrictor, and  
its coils exert a tremendous amount of pressure. To save his precious dignity, Thor the  
Brave now claims one day he's going to whack Jorgmunder in the head with Mjolnir and  
make himself a new pair of boots from its skin and a purse for Sif and a cloak too. Seems  
kind of ridiculous when you think about it. The snake never did anything to him. Then  
again, this is Thor. Need I say more?

Fenris Wolf was the result of the troll-wife Jarnvidja's breeding program to make a  
wolf capable of slaying an immortal. It worked too damn well, I'm afraid. Fenris is the size  
of a plow horse and has teeth the size of swords and a temper to match. Jarnvidja's fed him  
on human flesh to make him savage, as if he needed the encouragement!

Though he's not much of a threat at the moment, since Odin captured him after his  
last rampage through Asgard and has him chained to a rock in Muspelheim, where he howls  
all night and gives the fire giants and salamanders insomnia. Fenris can't get free of the  
golden chain that binds him, since it's a magical one made by everyone's favorite magician.  
Another thing I never get credit for. Instead the skalds give Tyr—that preening son of a  
goat—credit for leashing the giant wolf. Ha! First time Tyr caught sight of those teeth he  
wet himself.

I know, I was there as his backup. It was left to me to sing the crazed beast to sleep  
with one of my enchanted lullabyes, then sneak up and put the chain about his neck. I could  
have become wolf chowder, not that anyone gave a damn so long as the beast was chained.  
Tyr watched from behind a rock, shaking in his boots like a little girl. When we returned  
to Valhalla, he got drunk and cut off his hand with an axe trying to demonstrate how he'd  
fought his way past Fenris' jaws. And they say _I'm_ a liar.

As for Hel being my daughter, well, we are related in a way. Distant cousins or  
something on my mother's side. Her mother is Angerboda (poor thing!), but her father, like  
mine, didn't choose to stick around and claim her as his child. I can't really blame the  
fellow, it was probably all he could do to sleep with her mother. I wonder if he made her  
wear a bag over her face? Or maybe he wore a blindfold. But Hel's a goddess in her own  
right and doesn't need a man to prop up her legend any. She didn't inherit her mother's  
looks, fortunately, but her eyes can freeze your bones when she's mad at you.

She used to be my apprentice though, which is probably how that rumor got started.  
She still respects me as her mentor and on occasion will ask my advice, but that's as far as  
it goes.

My third wife was supposed to be Sigyn and her I actually did have a relationship  
with. She was my mistress for nearly a century and we had a very good time together. She  
even moved into my house for a bit. It was more convenient that way. Sigyn was a fresh  
faced blond who could sing and play the harp and enjoyed riding (horses and one lucky  
magician). She was sweet and gentle, the exact opposite of shrewish Glut. We made each  
other happy for a long time, but in the end I had to break it off because she was becoming  
too attached to me and mentioning the W and M words (wife and marriage) too often.

After a century of sharing my house and my bed, she wasn't being unreasonable, and  
she was funny and wry, but even so . . .I couldn't do it. I was very fond of her, wouldn't  
have hurt her if I could have helped it, but I didn't love her. That coupled with my marriage  
phobia put the nail in the coffin of our relationship. It wasn't fair for me to keep her hoping  
for something more when there was nothing there to work with.

One morning after breakfast I gave her the bad news. She took it better than I  
thought she would. She didn't throw anything at me, didn't hit me, and she only cried on  
my shoulder for about ten minutes. I held her gently and whispered apologies in her ear that  
I doubt she heard.

When she could talk again, she looked me right in the eye, her little chin quivering,  
and said, "I always knew I could never have you forever, Loki. You told me that at the  
beginning. But after so long I had hoped that you might have changed your mind. I should  
have known better. You never lie about things that really matter." Two tears trickled down  
her chin and she sniffled softly. "I just want you to know, I'd have liked to have a child with  
you. Something to remember you by . . ."

Now _I_ felt like crying. I'd been damn careful not to get her pregnant, not wanting  
her to bear the stigma of having a bastard child. And all along she'd wanted one. The best  
laid plans . . . "Aww, Sigyn, dearheart. I never knew that. I'm sorry. I never meant for it  
to be like this." I said awkwardly, my clever tongue frozen into silence for once. I reached  
out and wiped away her tears with a finger. "But I can't be a husband to you. I've got too  
many secrets I can't share, too many scars in my past, and in the end we'd make each other  
miserable. You deserve a man who can give you all of himself and I'll never be able to do  
that, sweetheart."

"I'd settle for half of you."

I shook my head. "No, you shouldn't need to settle for half of anything, Sigyn.  
Don't sell yourself short, lady. It was good while it lasted. Now go and find some man who  
can make you truly happy. No regrets, okay?"

"Okay." She gave me a shaky smile. "Someday, Loki, you're going to meet a woman  
who's going to see right past that mask you've got wrapped around your heart. And she's  
not going to care what secret shame you're hiding. She'll love you anyhow. Then, my  
clever fox, you'll be snared for good and all. And you won't mind it a bit, cause you'll love  
her right back."

"That'll never happen, girl," I chuckled. "But it's a nice dream."

"You never know. Even you don't see all the future, Magician of Asgard." Sigyn  
said with a mysterious grin. Then she hugged me hard and whispered in my ear, "I'll never  
regret what we shared, my love. Not in a thousand years. What you gave me is more  
precious than gold."

"Sigyn, Sigyn. Please don't . . ." I sniffled, blinking back tears.

She put a finger to my lips. "Hush that tongue, Master Rogue. No regrets,  
remember?" Then she kissed me, one last sweet burst of passion. Afterwards she packed  
her things and returned to Valhalla to live as Frigga's handmaid, the way she'd done before  
she'd met me.

I went back inside and got drunk, cursing myself for a fool.

I wouldn't have blamed her if she hated me afterwards and cursed me for a stone-  
hearted bastard. But Sigyn doesn't have a mean bone in her body. In fact she remains to this  
day a steadfast and loyal friend, one willing to defend me to the death against my enemies.  
They got that part right at least.

**Next up, the true story of Baldur the Brave and Loki!  
**


	5. Baldur's Bane

**Baldur's Bane--or An Accidental Poisoning**

Now, about the Baldur story . . .first off the whole thing about Baldur being the  
Prince of Peace and all that stuff is a crock. There's only ever been one man who held the  
right to that title and he wasn't living in Valhalla. His name was Jesus of Nazareth, better  
known as Jesus Christ. I met him long ago in Galilee, but that's another tale.

The skald who wrote the "Death of Baldur" was a convert to Christianity and needed  
a Christ-like figure for his saga to impress the king of Norway, who was also newly  
converted. So he picked Baldur. Then, of course, he needed somebody to be the villain of  
the piece and my name came to mind immediately. After all I was known as the god of liars,  
thieves, and mischief, why not add murderer to the list? Hell, why not go all the way and just  
call me Satan? Then all you need to complete the picture is Odin and Frigga as stand-ins for  
Joseph and Mary and you've got the Holy Family of Norse mythology. Neat, huh?

If you study the poem closely, you'll notice there are a lot of parallels between it and  
the Christ story. Baldur is born the son of Odin, known as the AllFather of the Norse  
pantheon (the divine connection). Baldur is saintly, handsome, sweet, and everybody loves  
him (like Jesus). He is later betrayed by one of his own, the blind Hod (Judas), who was  
tempted into sin by Loki (alias Satan). Hod kills Baldur with a dart of mistletoe given to him  
by Loki (here the metaphor stretches a bit thin). Baldur is dead and is universally mourned  
by his followers (like Jesus' disciples). Then Baldur's spirit goes to Hel's realm (the Norse  
afterworld) but eventually he gets resurrected and returns to spread his message throughout  
the world. In only one instance does the poem differ from the Christian version. At the end  
of the Baldur saga, Loki the villain is punished for his actions by being tied to a rock and  
having a serpent drip venom into his eyes instead of being forgiven for his sins. I guess the  
skald couldn't resist a little good old Norse vengeance, huh? Maybe he wasn't such a devout  
follower of Christ after all.

If it weren't for the fact that my reputation got smeared past repair, I might have  
found the skald's attempt to Christianize us hilarious. Instead it just pissed me off royally.  
But I got even with him too eventually.

However, there is a grain or two of truth inside that story. Baldur really did get  
poisoned and nearly died, but it was an accident, and yes I almost got blamed for it. But  
before I tell you about it, let me introduce you to Odin's golden son, Baldur the Brave.

Baldur is the handsomest of all Odin's sons, hands down. He's tall, graceful, with  
long golden hair and a short beard and perfectly even white teeth. His eyes are the color of  
the sky and they're always dancing. His favorite color is blue and he always wears some  
shade of it on his person. Like all of Odin's sons, he's a warrior. Unlike them, he can think  
as well as swing a sword. He's also more cultured and diplomatic than his brothers. By that  
I mean he uses a fork at the table, says please and thank you and doesn't hurt women and  
children. But he's no saint and he wants world peace about as much as a dog wants a plague  
of fleas.

I like Baldur, he's not such a bad guy for an Aesir lord. He's one of the few men  
besides Odin that I can actually sit and have a decent conversation with. One that doesn't  
involve swords, battle tactics, beer, and the best way to seduce the serving maid as she goes  
by with the next round of drinks. The above list is common topics of conversation at the  
feasts at Valhalla. Baldur likes music, poetry, and jokes (at least he always laughs at mine).  
He has a wife, Nanna, who absolutely adores him and two little scamps, a boy and a girl,  
Vali and Hilda. They're three and four and on the few occasions when Baldur's invited me  
to dinner, I've entertained them with magic tricks and word games.

Normally I don't have much to do with kids in Asgard, most of them are scared of  
me because of my magic, but not Baldur's. They run to meet me when they see me on  
Heror, hanging onto my stirrups and begging for a ride. I always give them one, like most  
youngsters they're horse crazy.

"Where's your father, Vali?" I ask as I pull up at the gate to the pasture.

"Out getting the sheep in from the fell," the little boy answers. He's the spitting  
image of his father. "He won't be back for an hour."

I swing him down to the ground. "An hour, huh?"

"Yeah. So you've got time to tell us a story, Loki."

"A story! A story!" yells Hilda, bouncing up and down on my saddle. I scoop her up  
and dismount before she makes Heror nervous with her jumping.

"What kind of story?"

"One with lots of blood and ghosts in it," Vali grins. "Like the one you told us last  
time about the man who got his head chopped off and carried it under his arm. Or the one  
where the banshee scares all the travelers to death with her scream."

"Blood and ghosts? Are you two sure you're normal children?" I tease. "Because  
normal kids are scared of things like blood and ghosts."

"Course we're normal kids," sniffs Hilda. "I wanna hear the one about the witch  
who shoves little kids in her oven and cooks 'em for dinner."

"Witches and ovens? I don't think you're normal kids at all. I think you're giant kids  
that were switched with Baldur's real kids. Because only giant kids like stories about things  
like that."

"Are not!" Vali cries. "I'm too little to be a giant kid."

"Yeah. And I'm too pretty," states his sister, which is true.

"You sure about that?" I ask. "Maybe I'd better put you two to a test. If you're giant  
kids and not Aesir ones you'll have fangs instead of teeth. Now let's see if you've got fangs,  
Hilda." I peer into her mouth. "Hmmm. Looks normal to me. Okay, guess you're Baldur's  
daughter after all." I grin, patting her on the head. "Your turn, Vali. What's this? It looks  
like a pointed tooth. Oh no! Hilda, I think your brother's becoming a giant."

"What can we do, Loki?" she cries, playing along.

"There's only one thing to do to stop him from becoming a giant," I say dramatically.  
"And that's to give him some magic candy." I pluck several pieces of molasses candy from  
out of the air with a flourish. "Here you go, Vali. Eat the candy and your giant tooth will  
be gone."

Then he gobbles the candy. I give some to Hilda too. "There! Now I'm better. Can  
you tell us a story now, Loki? Please?"

"Later I'll tell you a tale scary enough to shiver your bones and make your hair fall  
out," I promise, tweaking his nose. "But I don't have time now. Your father'll be back and  
then it'll be time for dinner."

"But we have time for a game of growling bear!" cries Hilda. "That doesn't take  
long."

"Yes! Let's play growling bear!" screams Vali. "And this time I get to be the  
hunter."

"No, me!" his sister says.

"No fair. You were the hunter last time, right Loki? It's my turn now," Vali says  
firmly. "Let me get my spear." He runs to grab a toy spear from a box near the front porch.

I unlatch the pasture gate and unsaddle Heror, letting him inside to graze with  
Baldur's horse. Then I walk to the middle of the yard.

Vali comes to stand before me with his little wooden spear and Hilda stands next to  
him, grinning. "We're ready!" they chant.

Then I transform myself into a black bear. Not a full size one, but one about as big  
as a pony. But plenty big to a couple of four-year-olds. I charge across the yard, growling  
horribly.

Hilda and Vali scatter, screaming and giggling. "Get him, Vali!" the little girl  
shrieks. "Poke him in the behind."

Vali, the bear hunter, tries to poke me with his spear but I'm too quick. I stand up  
on my hind legs and snarl, swinging at the air, pretending to attack the boy.

Hilda is jumping up and down, yelling like a banshee. "Poke out his eyes! Hit him  
in the gizzard!" Bloodthirsty little brat, isn't she? She'll probably become a Valkyrie for  
sure.

Vali thrusts at me with the stick, howling a war cry.

"Land sakes! What's going on out there?" That's Nanna.

"Nothing, Ma!" Vali yells back.

"We're just playing bear with Loki, Ma!" Hilda giggles.

"Oh. Mind you come in and wash your face and hands after, you hear? That means  
you too, Master Mischief!"

"Yes, Mother," I growl back, making the children burst out laughing. They love it  
when I sass their mother.

"I'll Mother you all right, you wretch!" Nanna says, coming out of the house to wave  
a broom threateningly about my head.

I duck, backing away far enough to stand up on my back legs. "Why Mother, don't  
you love me any more?" I whine like a little boy.

"Love a big brute like you?" Nanna snorts, but she's smiling.

"Oh, but I love _you_!" I wail. "Let me give you a hug, please!"

"Loki, don't you _dare_ . . ." Nanna gasps, backing away.

I walk forward on my hind legs, my paws outstretched. "Please, Mother!" I sob,  
following her around the yard until I corner her against the gate and grab her in my bear  
paws, hugging her against me.

"Ugh! Loki, stop it."

Then I lean my muzzle down and begin to lick her cheek. She struggles, yelling and  
laughing. "Wretch! Don't you dare put your dirty tongue on my cheek."

"How about this?" I laugh, changing back into a man and planting a great big kiss  
on her cheek. "Is that better, Mother dear?"

"Scamp!" she laughs. "Let me go, the children are watching."

I step back, releasing her. "Hey, kids! Don't tell your father that your mother got  
kissed by a bear, okay?" Then I wink at them.

"Sure!" they chorus.

Just then Baldur comes through the back gate with the sheep. They run screaming  
to him. "Guess what, Pa? Ma got kissed by a bear!"

He laughs and puts them on his shoulders. "She did, did she? I'll bet it was a  
scrawny little one." He winks at them. "What's for supper, Nanna?"

"Nothing. The bear ate it all," she says, straightfaced.

"What?" Baldur bellows. "Loki, you damn pig. I'm starving!"

"So was I." I say. Baldur glares at me. "Just kidding. It's still on the table."

"We fooled you, Pa!" the kids sing, laughing like fiends.

"Guess so." Baldur laughs. "C'mon, Loki. Let's eat before it gets cold."

That time supper was lamb stew and crusty hot bread with honey and butter.

I enjoyed many other suppers with Baldur and his family. And yet the night Baldur  
was poisoned by mistake, suspicion fell on me. Now I ask you, why in hell would I poison  
a man I liked and respected, especially one with a family that I also liked? I was ten times  
more likely to poison Thor than Baldur, if you want me to be honest.

Baldur's protected against most harmful things thanks to Frigga, who cast a spell of  
protection over him when he was a baby. He was always her favorite, and she didn't want  
anything bad to happen to him. She wanted him to be proof against poisons too, but that  
spell was beyond her. So she came to me, and I told her I could make a spell that would  
neutralize most poisons but not all.

"You can't protect him against everything, Frigga," I told her. "It's just not possible,  
even with magic. He's a kid, and kids get hurt. That's part of growing up."

"I know, but he's my baby. Oh, you wouldn't understand, Loki, you're not a parent."  
Frigga sighed.

"Look. I'll do my best, but there's no way I can make a spell that'll be foolproof  
against all the poisons there are. But I'll proof him against the major ones, like snake  
venom, arsenic, hemlock, and so forth."

"I guess that'll have to do."

My spell should have been enough to protect Baldur from an assassin, but even my  
magic wasn't powerful enough to defeat chance. And it was black chance that led Baldur's  
blind brother Hod to mistake the leaf of mistletoe for spiky mint. One was used to flavor  
mulled wine, the other was poisonous if ingested.

Hod had a garden that he grew herbs in. The herbs were arranged in a grid which he  
had memorized, so he knew exactly where everything was by smell and touch. Unknown  
to him, a stray mistletoe seed had gotten in among the mint plants and took root, growing  
upon the stake next to the mint plants. When Hod plucked it, it felt like mint and it smelled  
like it too, since the mint had rubbed off on it.

Baldur's favorite drink was spiced wine and Hod made the best spiced wine in  
Valhalla. So no one thought it strange that he would make his brother a cup for dinner.  
He'd done it countless times and no one bothered to watch him. He mixed the wine, heated  
it, and added the spices by touch, including that deadly mistletoe. Then he served it to  
Baldur.

Luckily Baldur had eaten heartily before he drank the wine, otherwise the poison  
would have gone through his system like wildfire and probably killed him outright. But it  
had to be absorbed slowly, along with the food, and that saved him.

Now mistletoe, when it's ingested, constricts the breathing passages and slows down  
the heart. It makes you sleepy and achy, but otherwise it doesn't hurt. So Baldur felt a little  
sick and tired and said he was going to lie down after dinner.

No one thought anything of this except his mother, who was overprotective of him,  
as I've mentioned. She came in to check on him after about fifteen minutes. And found him  
gasping for air, his eyes yellow as a cat's, for that's how the poison expresses itself in the  
early stages.

She began to scream, utterly hysterical. "My baby's dying! Help!"

Odin came in followed by Thor, Sif, and Sigyn.

"What's wrong with him, Mother? Is it the plague?" Thor whimpered.

"Of course not!" Frigga snapped. "He can't get the plague, he's immortal."

"Then what's wrong with him?" Sif wondered.

"He's been poisoned," Odin stated.

"Poisoned!" Frigga screamed. "But who'd poison my poor baby?"

"Loki probably would," Thor growled. "He knows more about herbs than any of us  
here. Why don't you ask him?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Sigyn snapped. "Loki would never poison Baldur. He wasn't  
even here tonight! But he's the only one who will know what kind of poison this is and how  
to treat it. I'll go and fetch him."

When I arrived at Valhalla I got several nasty looks, but I ignored them. My friend's  
life hung in the balance. Frigga was still hovering over her son, wringing her hands and  
sobbing, utterly beside herself.

I had no time to deal with her histrionics. "Frigga!" I snapped, shaking her hard.  
"Quit that damn crying and listen to me. What did Baldur have to drink or eat? It's  
important."

"I-I don't know! I can't remember. Oh please, Loki, save him."

"I can't unless you help me. Now _think_, dammit. What did you have for dinner?"

"Roasted chicken and pig with honey and vegetables. But everyone ate it and no one  
got sick."

"What else? Did he have anything to drink?"

"Just some mead. And spiced wine. But Hod makes that, surely it couldn't be that."

"When did he say he felt sick? Before or after dinner?"

"After. He said he felt tired and achy and was going to lie down. Then I came in and  
found him like this!" she began to cry again.

Frowning, I checked his pulse and peered at his eyelids. Then I smelled his breath.  
Mistletoe leaves a distinct odor. I swore softly. "Frigga, what was in that spiced wine?  
What kinds of herbs?"

"The usual kind. Some cinnamon, mint, and nutmeg. Why?"

"Because someone put mistletoe in there and Baldur drank it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now listen very closely. I'm going to cast a spell on him that'll open up his  
lungs and his throat so he can breathe easier. After that I need to go back to my house and  
make up two potions. I need you to stay here and watch him, don't touch him, don't try to  
wake him up, just watch him."

"Will your potions stop the poison?"

"They should," I answered honestly. In truth I didn't know. A lot of it depended on  
Baldur, how much mistletoe he'd ingested, and how much time had gone by afterwards. I  
turned to where the comatose immortal lay and placed my hands over his chest, whispering,  
"Breathe."

I poured my power into him, clearing his lungs and his trachea. He gasped and  
breathed normally. "All right. Now for the hard part," I muttered and transported myself  
to my laboratory.

I mixed four drafts of each potion, packed it all in my satchel, then took some  
wakeflower root as well, which is like a smelling salt.

I told Frigga to have someone fetch a basin, a pitcher of water, a cup, and towels.  
Then I checked on my patient. He was still out, his eyeballs yellow, but his breathing was  
better. I waved the wakeflower root under his nose. He sneezed. "Baldur!" I called softly.  
"Time to wake up."

"Go 'way," he mumbled, brushing at his nose.

"Wake up!" I ordered, shoving the root under his nose.

He blinked at me groggily, now fully awake. "Loki? What is it?"

"Baldur, listen. You've been poisoned. I'm trying to help you, so just do what I say.  
I'm going to give you two potions. The first one's a blood purifier, it's going to give you a  
fever and make you sweat. The second's going to make you puke your guts up. Now don't  
fight me, just drink."

"All right," he said woozily.

I held the first potion to his lips. He swallowed it obediently.

I waited a minute. It worked quickly. His face flushed and sweat began to pour  
down his cheeks. It was tinged yellow. "Hot." Baldur panted.

"Yeah, but that's good." I soothed him. "Okay. Open up." I fed him the second one.  
Then I grabbed the basin.

He puked up everything he'd eaten. Frigga held his head, stroking his hair. When  
he'd finished, I wiped his face with the towel and gave him water. He was still sweating,  
though his color was pale now from vomiting. But his eyes were still yellow, though lighter  
than before.

"Now what?" Frigga asked.

"Now we wait a bit." I said. "Then we do it again."

"Again?" Baldur said in dismay.

"I'm afraid so." I patted his shoulder. "Here. Let's get that tunic off."

I stripped him down and bathed him with a wet cloth over his protests. The water  
was yellow as I wrung it out. I waited fifteen minutes, then re-administered the potions.  
After the second time his color was nearly back to normal and you could see the whites of  
his eyes.

"How do you feel now? Can you breathe okay?"

"Yeah. But my stomach hurts," he grumbled.

"Sorry. It can't be helped." I glanced at Frigga. "This is working. His body's being  
cleansed of the poison. Two more times should finish it. Get me some bread. And more  
water."

Baldur started to complain again, saying he wasn't going to take any more of my  
medicine. I threatened to hold his nose and pour it down his throat. "You want to die, you  
stupid ass?" I growled. "If you were mortal you'd be dead and in the ground by now. So  
just shut up and do as you're told."

Frigga returned with the bread and the water. I gave Baldur the bread to eat, because  
the bread would act like a sponge and absorb any of the remaining traces of poison in his  
stomach. It would also give him something to throw up.

I wiped him down again. An hour passed. I dosed him a third time. He showed  
marked improvement. By the fourth time his eyes were back to normal and so was his  
sweat. "You're going to be okay now," I said and then I grinned.

"You sure about that? Because I feel awful."

"I'm sure," I reassured him, running a quick health check on him with my magic.  
The poison was gone. Frigga burst into tears and Baldur turned to hug her.

"Drink plenty of water. And get some rest," I instructed. "You should be back to  
your old self by tomorrow." I yawned. I was exhausted.

"Thanks, Loki." Baldur began awkwardly. "I owe you one."

"Forget it. But you're welcome anyhow. Good night."

I was fuzzy-headed, so I couldn't risk a straight transport back home. I would have  
to walk. I gathered up my empty bottles and stuffed them in my satchel. I wanted to study  
that wine cup, but my eyes were shutting.

I walked back down to the mead hall. Several of the warriors were still there, getting  
drunk and discussing Baldur's condition. They looked up as I came into the room.

"How is he?" Odin asked quickly, concern in his eye.  
"He'll recover. But it was a close thing."

There was a collective sigh of relief.  
"Can I go see him?" Odin asked me.

"Yeah, just don't stay too long. He needs his rest."

My brother departed, undisguised relief shining on his face. Then someone said,  
"What kind of poison was it? I heard it was mistletoe."

"It was. He drank it with his wine." I said grimly.

"What?" stammered Hod. "But . . .that can't be. I made it myself. I'd never harm  
Baldur."

I walked over to where Baldur's cup sat on the table. For once I thanked the fact that  
the warriors were such pigs, because it meant the servants hadn't cleared away all the dirty  
dishes. I sniffed the dregs of the wine. Sure enough, there was the acrid stench of mistletoe  
in it.

"Whether you intended to or not, Hod, the proof's right here," I said icily. "There's  
bits ﻿of mistletoe mixed in here, down at the bottom of the glass."

Hod began to weep, saying he didn't do it.

I walked up to him. "Then how did the mistletoe get in there? Did anyone else touch  
this cup besides you?"

"No! But I didn't put it there. I picked the herbs myself. I put in mint and cloves  
same as I always do." Hod blubbered. "You've got to believe me."

"Leave him alone, Loki," Thor growled. "You've upset him enough for one night.  
How do you know for sure that's what was in that cup?"

"Because I can smell it, idiot!"

"Oh, yeah? Maybe you know so much about it cause you put it in there!" the Thunder  
God accused.

I gaped at him. "Don't be stupid. What reason would I have to poison Baldur?"

"Maybe cause you wanted his wife. We all know how you visit her and play games  
with her and the children," Thor said. He'd gotten that information from Hugin and Munin,  
Odin's gossipy ravens.

"So what? That doesn't mean I'd kill Baldur."

"It does if you want Nanna for yourself. Right, fellows?"

I gazed around at the others in the hall. Not one would meet my eye. In fact some  
of them were nodding and agreeing with the big lummox. I couldn't believe my ears. Were  
they all insane?

"Thor's right," Hod babbled. "If I didn't put the mistletoe in the cup, then Loki must  
have!"

I remained with my mouth open, too shocked to even defend myself.

"Shut up, you blind oaf!" Sigyn came to my rescue. "Loki has no need to poison  
anyone. All he needs to do is blast them with magic." She meant well, but her comment  
only added more fuel to the fire they were building under me.

"How do we know he didn't do that?" Thor demanded. "Maybe he cursed Baldur  
instead."

More mutterings followed.

My head throbbed. I couldn't deal with this now. I wanted to sleep for a year.

"You stupid bastard," came a new voice from the doorway. Heads turned all over  
the hall. It was Baldur. He was leaning against the doorjamb, shirtless, wearing a pair of  
breeches and barefoot. His hair was still damp with sweat. He looked haggard, but he was  
clear-eyed. And he was glaring at his brother. "If I wasn't half-dead still I'd come over  
there and punch some sense into your skull. Loki saved my life and you think he poisoned  
me?"

"Well, he wanted Nanna . . ." Thor began.

"Then why by all the hells didn't he just let me die?" Baldur scowled. "All he had  
to do was to say he couldn't cure me and that would have been that. But he didn't. He  
stayed with me all night and he saved my life. He's no more guilty of poisoning me than I  
am. Get that through that thick head of yours, big brother. And you too, Hod. Because if  
you didn't put the poison in there on purpose it must have been by accident. In which case,  
I forgive you. Now all of you idiots shut up and go home, I need my sleep."

Then he turned and walked back up the passage to his bedroom.

"Thank you, Baldur," I murmured. Then I walked out of the mead hall.

Everyone avoided my eyes, ashamed. But no one apologized. Not that I ever  
expected them to. For despite Baldur's defense of me, I still was little better than an outcast,  
tolerated because of my magic and Odin's oath. I wondered bitterly if it would ever change.  
Probably not.

I knew that if they had been able to pin Baldur's poisoning on me, they would have,  
no matter what actually happened. Disgusted with all of them, I trudged home. I would  
return tomorrow to check on Baldur, but after that, they'd be lucky if they saw me in a year.  
Which didn't necessarily mean I wouldn't go up to the hall to borrow things from time to  
time. I was the Master Thief, after all, and I went where I would and no door or lock could  
keep me out. Maybe it was time I reminded those louts that, they tended to forget just who  
they were dealing with. And if I was going to get blamed for something, it ought to be for  
something I'd actually done, I thought angrily. We'd see who got the last laugh here.

I spent the next seven months or so keeping my hands busy snitching various objects  
from those who'd accused me and playing around with my magic and tending to my animals.  
Baldur stopped by twice to visit, each time bringing me a gift to thank me for saving him,  
even though I told him it wasn't necessary. He told me they'd found the mistletoe among  
Hod's mint plant and therefore I was cleared of suspicion. I told him it didn't matter anyway,  
people had always been quick to think the worst of me. Baldur then said it wasn't my fault  
most of my relatives were dumber than sheep. He was the most decent member of my family  
except for Sigyn. He told me I had an open invitation to dinner at his house whenever I got  
sick of my own or Ava's cooking.

Which was where things stood that fateful morning when I went out to the barn and  
returned to find a basket with a baby on my porch.

**So how did you like the way this turned out??**

**Let me know, the review button is lonely!**


	6. For the Love of A Child

﻿**For the Love of A Child**

The three years since my discovery of my daughter passed swifter than falcons in  
flight. Before I knew it she was crawling, then a week later she was standing up, next thing  
I knew she was toddling everywhere, getting into everything. She was an extremely bright  
child, she talked before she was a year old, clearly and distinctly in full sentences. She had  
the curiosity of ten cats and kept Ava and me busy answering all her questions and keeping  
her from mischief.

She was fascinated with water, puddles, and mud. I never had to worry about her  
taking a bath, she practically drowned herself in the tub. I taught her to swim, mindful of  
all the stories I'd heard of kids drowning in bathtubs and lakes. She took to it like a dolphin.  
Even so, I never left her alone during her bath. There was no telling what trouble she would  
get into.

I made that mistake once, leaving her unattended for barely five minutes. I returned  
to find her gleefully playing "sea monster" with her toy ships, "drowning" them with huge  
splashing waves that lapped over the tub and created an ocean right in the kitchen. I was  
ankle deep in water and bubbles, and the little brat was screaming at the top of her lungs,  
"Reef the mainsail! A hurricane's a'coming!"

"Bella!" I shouted. "What the blazes are you doing?"

"Playing sea monster and shipwreck," she answered, giving me her best utterly  
innocent look.

I wasn't fooled for an instant. She was about innocent as the wolf in sheep's  
clothing. "Stop it right now, young lady. Look at the damn mess you made," I scolded. "I  
feel like I'm living in Ran's sea palace." Ran was the self-styled Mistress of the Waves,  
worshipped as a sea goddess by the Vikings.

"But if we live in a sea palace, Papa, then it's all right to have water on the floor,"  
she pointed out with her child's logic.

"We don't and it isn't," I said, scowling. Then I muttered a spell to banish the water  
and advanced on her. "Bath time's over, you wretched mermaid's child."

"No! Please, I'll be good." She begged, her eyes growing bright with tears.

I shook my head firmly. "Too late for that. Besides, you spend any more time in  
there and you're going to grow fins." Then I vanished the water in the tub so she had no  
choice but to obey me. I know, that's cheating, but I have to have some advantages as a  
magician.

She sulked and glared at me, but her bad moods never last long, and by the time I've  
got her dry and in her nightgown she'd forgiven me and was willing to sit on my lap and  
listen to a bedtime story. Though not one with blood and ghosts in it.

She's a fey child, is my Bella. She has hair the color of moonbeams and spun gold  
and her eyes are a shade of pure jade so rich they'd be worth millions of gold pieces if they  
were jewels. She's small, like an elfin child, but not delicate. She's bold and inquisitive,  
and when she wants something she can be stubborn as Olga. But she's not the type that  
whines and cries if I tell her no, thank Yggdrasil. That I don't think I could put up with, I've  
no patience for spoiled brats like Glut.

When she turned two, she suddenly became Miss Independent, wanting to do  
everything herself. Dress herself, lace her own boots, brush her own hair. She did none of  
it well, but I let her try anyhow. Then I went and fixed things afterward. She even wanted  
to make her own breakfast and cut her own food, but I drew the line at that. "You never let  
me do anything fun!" she sobbed when I took the bread knife from her.

"Here," I said, handing her the slice of bread.

"Don't want it," she said, stamping her foot on the floor.

"Fine. Starve," I said, shrugging. Sometimes the best approach to dealing with her  
is to pretend you don't care.

Realizing she wasn't going to get her way, she wisely gave in and ate her bread and  
butter. I had learned gradually that tempting as it was to give into every woebegone glance  
and heartfelt plea, I had to be firm and set limits. Which was harder than I ever thought it'd  
be, since I wasn't too fond of discipline myself. But I quickly realized that unless I wanted  
to be walked all over, I'd better make rules and stick to them.

I had Nanna to thank for that tip. "Children need a routine to follow. If you let her  
pick her own bedtime and mealtime, she'll think she gets to make all the decisions in the  
house, and then you'll have real trouble later on. Remember, you're the adult, not her. You  
call the shots."

I followed her advice and found she was right. She also told me not to treat Bella  
like an older child simply because she was advanced for her age. "She might be able to  
recite the Song of the Valkyries, Loki, but for all of that she's still a two-year-old. Let her  
be one, not some wonder child that doesn't know whether she's a kid or an adult."

Much as I would have liked to boast to my relatives that I was raising a child prodigy  
right under their noses, I knew Nanna was right. I never wanted Bella to suffer the fate of  
so many child genius' (myself included) and become a social outcast. So while I nurtured  
her mind with word games and books, I also made sure she knew how to play like a normal  
child. We played tag and hide and go seek and guess what animal I am and sang silly songs  
and a toned down version of growling bear. I loved to hear her laugh and I had a whole  
repertoire of tricks and such designed to make her giggle.

She was a naturally demonstrative child, easily moved to laughter and tears, always  
running to me for a hug or snuggle. And I always obliged her, never wanting her to know  
the terrible coldness of my own childhood. There had been no hugs and kisses in my  
childhood, no one to tell me they loved me. Always I had been made to feel like a burden,  
endured rather than adored. It had hurt me more than I ever realized.

But my daughter not only provided me with a chance to give love, but also to receive  
it. She loved me with her whole heart, unconditionally, the way no one had ever done in my  
whole life. And I loved her back the same way, without fear that she would reject me.  
Gradually, as I played and taught her, I regained a bit of the childhood I'd lost, and healed  
my damaged heart. It was an unexpected gift, and all the more precious for being unlooked  
for.

She slept in a trundle bed next to mine, despite her newfound insistence on being a  
big girl, she was not yet ready to sleep alone. Every night before bed I'd take her on my lap  
and sit in the window seat across from the bed and we'd play a game called Count the Stars.  
"Star light, star bright, how many stars do I see tonight?" she would sing softly and I would  
echo her. Then she would count all the stars she could see and I'd do the same. After a time  
she would stop and say, "I see a hundred stars that means I love you a hundred times, Papa."

"And I love you back a hundred times two," I'd answer, and kiss her on the cheek.  
"Now good night, sleep tight, sweetheart." By then she would be sleepy and I could tuck her  
in bed.

One night she surprised me though and answered me, "I love you a hundred times  
infinity."

I laughed. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Yes. It means I love you always and forever," she answered, then she hugged me.

I was close to tears then, and I hugged her back, whispering, "Just the way I love you,  
sunshine." Silently I thanked whatever Power had seen fit to send her to me, because I  
needed her as much as she needed me.

In spite of her mortal heritage, Bella was rarely sick, her immortal blood acting as  
a natural defense against the childhood diseases that killed so many mortal children. She  
suffered the occasional cold, summer fevers, and stomach flu, but on the whole she was  
voraciously healthy. I had prepared myself to deal with a whole host of diseases, from  
chicken pox to mumps, but she had inherited the constitution of one of us, which relieved  
me immensely, for as a parent there is nothing worse than having to deal with a sick child.  
The first time she ran a fever I was nearly as frantic as Frigga had been the night of Baldur's  
poisoning for all my medical knowledge. I gave her willowbark and pennyroyal mixed with  
honey, which she spit out at first. But I at last managed to get it down her, then I sat there  
holding her hand all night, listening to her breathe. The next morning she was fine, but I  
made her take an extra dose of medicine as insurance. Then I made her stay indoors for the  
day, over her protests. I can look back now and laugh at my ridiculous behavior, but back  
then I was a nervous wreck. I cast the same protective spell wards against disease and  
poison on my daughter as I had on Baldur, comprehending at last Frigga's insistence on  
safeguarding her baby.

Because of the incident following Baldur's poisoning, I had almost no contact with  
my relatives during this time, except for Baldur and his family. Bella and I visited their  
home regularly and she played with Vali and Hilda while I talked with Baldur and Nanna.  
Those visits provided me with news of the doings at Valhalla as well as a respite from  
entertaining my daughter for a time. Baldur's kids were close enough in age to Bella to not  
mind playing with her and yet old enough to be trusted to watch her. They were also not  
intimidated by her intellect and taught her how to behave like a normal kid, so I need never  
fear her being a social outcast.

Or so I thought. Until the afternoon she came running into Baldur's cottage crying,  
saying that some boy had called her a half-mortal bastard not fit to play with decent children.  
Vali and Hilda followed a moment later, panting and indignant, like they'd been involved  
in a scuffle.

"He said _what_?" I snarled, my eyes blazing with all the fires of Muspelheim. I felt  
as if the specter of my childhood had come back to haunt me. I was holding my daughter  
on my lap, stroking her hair, while she sobbed into my shirt. "Vali, do you know who he  
was?"

"Yeah. It was my cousin Grim, Thor's son. He's twelve and mean as Fenris. I told  
him to shut up, but he told me if I kept defending useless mortal bastards he'd give me a  
black eye. He's bigger than me, Loki, so I couldn't do anything else. Sorry."

"And I told him Bella was worth a hundred of him, and I'd rather have her as my  
friend than him any day of the week," Hilda said loyally. "And if I was bigger_ I'd_ give him  
a bloody nose. " She was six and Vali seven that year, both of them skinny as saplings. No  
way they could have stood up to one of Thor's big louts.

"And what'd he say to that?" her mother asked.

"He laughed and said if I knew what was good for me I'd go on home quick, and I  
said he wasn't the boss of me and I kicked him in shin."

"Then he looked like he was going to hit Hilda, so I told him if he hit a girl I'd get  
you to put a curse on him, Papa," continued Bella. "And he laughed and said he wasn't  
afraid of no sneaking coward warlock or his witch-brat."

"Oh, he did, did he?"

"That kid needs a good whipping," Baldur said heatedly. "My brother lets him get  
away with too much. He's a little terror."

"Not this time," I said grimly. I set my daughter back on her feet and stood up.  
"C'mon Baldur. We're going to pay a little visit to Mr. I'm-Not-Afraid-of-Warlocks and  
teach him some manners."

"Can we come and watch?" the three children chorused.

"No. But I promise I'll tell you all about it later," I promised.

They groaned, but Nanna told them to hush and sit down and eat lunch. When we  
left they were discussing all the various punishments I could mete out, from beating Grim  
senseless, turning him into a worm, putting red ants on his tongue, ripping out his toenails,  
to making him kneel at Bella's feet, kiss her shoe, and apologize ten hundred times. Clearly  
there was no love lost between the cousins.

"What are you going to do to him?" Baldur asked curiously as we strode down the  
track leading to Thor's farmstead. The children had been playing near the boundary  
between the two properties, according to Vali.

"I'm going to scare the snot out of him." I answered shortly, trying to rein in my  
temper. "That's why I want you there, as a witness. The nerve of the little snot, saying my  
daughter's not fit to play with decent children! Who the blazes is he, crown prince of  
Asgard?"

"You know where he gets that from, don't you? His father. Thor's obsessed with  
being a pure-blooded Aesir and the son of Asgard's leader. He's taught all his kids that  
they're better than anyone else because of it, and so they strut around acting like they're  
lords of the universe. Last month, Grim knocked Vali in the dirt because he wouldn't get  
out of his way quick enough when Grim was crossing the road with Thor's goats. Told him  
Vali wasn't the same rank as he was, since I was only Odin's younger son." Baldur shook  
his head angrily. "Made me mad enough to spit nails. So I went right to his father and told  
him what when on, and Thor just shrugs and said I should let them settle it on their own.  
You're turning your boy into a sissy, interfering like you do, he sneers. Let 'em fight it out  
and see who comes out on top. It always worked when we were kids. Like hell, I said. You  
used to beat me up all the time until I got big enough to hit back. I'll be damned if I'm  
going to let your bully of a son do that to Vali. I told him if I caught Grim pounding on Vali  
again, I'd give him the thrashing of his life. I'd be within rights, since I'm his uncle, and as  
kin I can mete out punishments if necessary. I never had any problems since." Baldur gave  
me a speculative look, grinning slowly. "Hey, I just realized _you're _his uncle too, since  
you've sworn blood-oath with my father. Which means you don't have to worry about Thor  
claiming you assaulted a minor."

"I know. But I still want you there, because then Thor can't say I used dark magic  
on his precious little prince. Not that I care for myself, but I don't want Bella's reputation  
to suffer because of me."

"Have no fear, my friend. I can't wait to see the little brat get what's coming to  
him," Baldur said, smirking like a ten-year-old.

We found Grim on his side of the boundary stones, chucking rocks at a man-shaped  
wooden target, probably practicing for the day he'd go into battle and knock some poor  
guy's head off. Or maybe he was considering a career in highway robbery. Either way his  
aim was terrible.

I walked right up to the boundary stones that marked the beginning of Thor's  
property, canceling out the ward magic with a flick of my fingers. The wards were clumsily  
set anyway and wouldn't have kept out a wandering troll, much less a master magician.  
"Grim Thorsson," I called out sternly. "You and I seem to have a score to settle."

He turned to see who dared to address him in such a fashion, one hand still clutching  
a rock. When he saw me, he went white as a ghost and started to back away. "Keep out of  
here, Loki!" he blustered. "If you set one foot on my property, the wards will fry you."

"Think again, boy," I growled and hopped over the knee-high white rocks with ease.  
Then I grinned my most provocative grin. "Do you see any smoke? I don't. What are you  
going to do now, tough guy? Not so brave now, are you?"

He backed away further, the rock forgotten in his hand. "Stay away from me, I'm  
warning you. You try to magic me and my father will bash your brains in."

"Oh? But that would be kinslaying, Grim. A niding's deed."

"You ain't no kin to us, Loki!" Grim sneered. "You're nothing but a jumped up half-  
Vanir bastard that tricked his way into my grandfather's good graces. You don't even know  
who sired you."

I clucked my tongue at him reprovingly. "Such disrespect, little nephew. Blood-oath  
is as binding as true kinship. You'd know that if you ever bothered to study Aesir law. That  
being so, I'm perfectly within my rights to punish you for your nasty mouth." I snapped my  
fingers, summoning a tiny globe of bluish fire to hover on my palm. I tossed it idly into the  
air while I talked, walking forward, my eyes hard as agates. "I don't like the way you've  
been talking about my little daughter, Grim. Calling her a half-mortal bastard not fit to play  
with decent children."

"I-I never said that!" he sputtered, his eyes riveted on the fireball. "My father did."

"The words came out of your mouth, didn't they?" I said silkily.

"I . . .I . . ." Grim had backed right up against the target now, his eyes glassy with  
fear. Abruptly he remembered the stone in his hand and lifted it threateningly. "Get back,  
or else I'll knock your head off, I swear it."

"Are you threatening me, child?" I growled, using my magic to make myself seem  
bigger than I was. "Is this how you treat a relative that comes to your house? Such a pity  
your father never taught you any better manners. Because now I'm going to." I gave him my  
wickedest smile.

"My father'll kill you!" he whimpered.

"I'm not afraid of your father, boy," I said menacingly. "I could snuff him out like  
this!" and I pinched out the fireball between my fingers. His eyes were bugging out now.

"D-don't hurt me! Please!" he whined. "I didn't mean it, sir."

"Oh, but you did. Never lie to a liar, boy." I purred. "You meant every last nasty  
word, you conceited little pig. You like beating up kids weaker than you, don't you? Makes  
you feel big and strong, right, Your Highness? You think it's funny making little girls cry.  
What a warrior you're turning into, Grim. A bullying coward just like your father."

"I'm no coward!"

"No? Prove it then. We'll have a little contest. I'm going to stand here and let you  
throw that rock at me the way you said you would. If I move, you win. But if I don't, then  
you get to stand there and face whatever I throw at you without moving. Sounds fair, right?  
I mean, what's a brave warrior like you have to fear from a two-bit magician like me? If I  
lose, I go away and let you off your punishment. But if you lose, then you take whatever I  
dish out. Fair enough?"

He bit his lip. "And if I win you won't punish me?"

"No. And all you have to do is face me down. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Now go stand over there a ways," he ordered, smirking nastily.

I did as he had said, fighting back a grin. I wasn't afraid he'd hit me with his little  
stone. I'd seen for myself he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Why was I going through  
this elaborate charade, you ask? Sheer shock value. I wanted to drive my point home so hard  
he'd never forget it. He was as thickheaded as his sire, and he needed a lesson like this to  
make him mend his ways. Plus, it was fun watching the little beast squirm.

I stood in front of him, about ten feet away. "All right. On the count of ten, you can  
try and hit me." Then I froze into immobility.

He began counting, and as he did so his smile grew wider and I could tell he was  
relishing the way that the rock was going to slam me. He was one of those pathetic people  
who take pleasure in the suffering of others.

He wound up his arm and threw. If the rock had hit me it would have hurt like hell,  
maybe even broken something. But it missed me by a mile, landing somewhere in the field  
behind me. And I had remained still as a statue.

He cursed softly, he'd really been looking forward to nailing me. Even worse  
though, I hadn't flinched.

"Looks like I'm no coward, wouldn't you say?" I drawled.

"Guess so."

"Your turn. Stand just where I'm standing now."

"Wait. What if we both pass the test?"

"Then we both do it again till someone moves. Now get over there. I don't have all  
day."

We traded places. Then I revealed my secret weapon. I summoned back the little  
blue ball of witchfire. Witchfire is an apprentice trick, it looks like fire, but it's actually  
only a ball of light. Perfectly harmless. But it served its purpose.

"That's no rock. That's a _fireball!"_ Grim wailed. "You can't throw that at me."

"Why not? It's only a little witchfire. Hardly enough to singe your eyebrows off.  
Besides, I never said I had to use a rock. The deal was to throw something at you and see  
if you moved. You're a warrior, you chose a rock. I'm a magician. I choose magic. All's  
fair in love and war, boy. Now quit whining and act like a man." I began counting.

The ball of witchfire sputtered and crackled in my hand, just like a real fireball.

Grim went utterly to pieces. "Nooo! It's not fair!" He covered his face with his  
hands, weeping.

"What's this?" I mocked. "I haven't even thrown anything at you and you're crying  
like a little girl. I want my mama!" I made my voice high and shrill, like a little child's.  
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

I drew back my arm.

He fell to the ground, curling into a ball, shivering and crying.

I snuffed the witchfire and stalked over to him. I grabbed the back of his tunic and  
hauled him to his feet. "Stand up, you big baby!" I ordered coldly. "Guess now we know  
who's the real coward, don't we, Grim?" I shook him sharply. He nodded miserably. "You  
lost. Now take your punishment like a man, boy." I conjured a switch from the air.

His eyes widened and he cringed. "You're gonna beat me?"

"Not me, boy. My punishment is this. You're going to go up to the next three people  
you see and tell them that you are a gutless coward and a bully who likes to torment little  
children and needs a lesson in manners. Then you're going to hand them this switch and tell  
them to beat you." As I spoke I put the power of command into my voice, setting the curse  
in motion. "Then you're going to go home and tell your father that you've been punished  
properly for your behavior and you'll never hurt another child as long as you live. And if  
you ever break your word, the curse will become active again and you'll be made to get a  
stick and ask three people to punish you." I added slyly, though in fact that wasn't true.

But I figured the mere thought of it would serve to keep him on the straight and narrow. And  
there'd be one less bully in Asgard. "Now go, Grim Thorsson and receive the punishment  
you so richly deserve."

I handed him the switch and stepped back, though the magic wouldn't have worked  
upon me anyhow, since I'd cast it.

Grim walked across the field, switch in hand, sniveling. And the first person he saw  
was Baldur. My friend was quite happy to do as he'd been asked, giving the little snot a  
sound thrashing. Whimpering and bawling, Grim limped off down the road to seek out two  
more people to punish him, one for each of the children he'd tormented that day.

I dusted off my hands and rejoined Baldur. "I don't think we'll have any more  
problems."

He whistled. "Remind me never to get you mad, Loki." Then he chuckled. "But I  
have to admit, that was damn clever. Thor won't be able to call anyone into account over  
this, since Grim asked for it, literally. Hopefully, the lesson will stick."

"Oh, I think it will. He'll never forget it either, because every gossip in Asgard will  
be talking about it and that's going to hurt worse than any switch."

"Right. And now I can twit my brother over his son the coward," Baldur said  
happily. "Serves him right too, for raising such a little monster in the first place."

**Well, what did you think of Loki's solution?**

**Next: A treacherous nixie tries to eat Bella. **


	7. Bella and the Nixie

**Bella and the Nixie**

**Sorry I haven't updated this as regularly as I wanted to, but I'm working on a new fic, Broken Wings, and it's taking me hostage, or my Muse is. Anyhow, here's the next part. Enjoy!**

﻿By the time my daughter was three she was reading simple sentences and writing her  
name. She could speak Norse and English fluently and I was starting her on Latin, French,  
and Italian. I had discovered that children soak up languages like sponges when they're that  
age. I was multi-lingual myself, speaking at least twelve mortal languages, including all the  
Scandinavian tongues, the Romance languages, even a smattering of Hebrew and Arabic.  
I planned on taking a trip down to Midgard with her when she was older and I wanted her  
to be able to speak to whomever she encountered without any problems. Then too, it's the  
hallmark of an educated person to be able to speak more than one language.

Bella, being the smart little imp she was, picked up languages without blinking an  
eye. In the mornings we'd have lessons, I used both books from the mortal realm and a  
combination of my own songs, rhymes, and word challenges which helped increase her  
vocabulary in each language a hundredfold than just memorizing the words by rote. Maybe  
I should have been a language teacher instead of a magician.

Ava always rolled her eyes and snorted whenever we did language lessons. "Don't  
see why you have to be bothered learning all them foreign tongues, Master. Nobody speaks  
'em round here except you and the little one." Nisses never needed to learn languages, they  
spoke the native tongue of whatever household they dwelled in.

"No knowledge is ever wasted, Ava," I told her.

"If you say so," the Nis sniffed, then turned back to her sweeping.

Bella looked up from her exercises and giggled. She loved Ava, the Nis was the  
closest thing she had to a mother, but sometimes I knew she found the little creature's  
notions silly. Today I'd assigned her to write down ten new words in French and use them  
aloud in a sentence.

"Okay. Let's hear your new words, Bella," I said, and leaned back in my chair  
expectantly.

"Idiot." She announced. "Sometimes Ava can be an idiot."

I frowned at her. "Not funny. Give me another one."

"How about jackass? Yesterday you called Thor a jackass," she lisped in perfect  
French.

That was probably true, I thought ruefully. But I hadn't been using French. "Bella!  
You know you're not allowed to use swear words." I reproved. "Now knock it off."

"How about damn?" she continued, giving me her sweetest smile. "Is that a swear  
word?"

She knew perfectly well it was. It was going to be one of those mornings. "Sounds  
like someone's asking to get spanked and sent to her room," I threatened, using the most  
potent weapon in my arsenal.

"No! I'll be good. Sorry." Then she glanced down at her paper and bit her lip.

Lest you think I terrified my child into obedience with a switch, let me explain that  
my version of a spanking was three smacks on the behind with my hand. When she was  
older it got increased to six, but never anything more. And I used it as a last resort, or when  
she'd done something truly terrible, like touching my magical apparatus or wandering off  
the property without telling me. When she was an adult she told me the worst thing about  
my spanking her wasn't the fact that it hurt (though it did sting), but the fact that she'd made  
me mad enough to hit her in the first place. My disappointment stung worse than my hand,  
apparently. So you see, I wasn't the ogre everyone paints me.

"Well? Read me the next word on your list," I encouraged.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know if whore counts as swearing."

Now I _knew_ I'd never taught her that one and it wasn't in any of the books we had  
either. "Let me see that list!" I reached out and took the paper she'd written on. On it were  
the French slang for a prostitute, penis, breast, and several other assorted swear words.  
"Where did you hear these words, young lady?" I demanded, fixing her with my most  
disapproving glare. "Because they certainly weren't anything _I_ taught you."

"Hugin and Munin taught me." She answered truthfully. "I was practicing outside  
yesterday and they came down and said they could teach me all kinds of words in every  
language known to man." Hugin and Munin (Thought and Memory in Old Norse), were  
Odin's giant ravens, his eyes and ears both in Asgard and Midgard. They were the worst  
spies, sneaks, and rascals in the realms.

"Oh, they'll teach you some new words all right," I said heatedly. "Every swear  
word ever invented. Wait'll I get hold of those two rascals. Making my daughter swear like  
a dockhand. I'm going to yank out their tail feathers for that little prank."

"Maybe they didn't know those words were bad either," Bella defended them. She's  
always had a soft spot for animals.

"Oh, they knew what they were saying. They're not stupid. They can speak and  
understand any language they hear. It was just a big joke to them, giving you those words  
to learn."

"But they nearly got me in big trouble," my daughter said angrily. "That's not funny  
at all."

"No, it isn't," I sighed. Though I had to admire their sneakiness. "But we'll worry  
about them later." I picked up my French dictionary and copied out ten new vocabulary  
words on the same sheet of paper, since parchment was expensive stuff and I didn't have  
much to waste. "Here. See if you can use these in a sentence, _ma cherie_."

After French we moved on to addition and a brief lesson about the differences  
between humans and animals. Then it was Ava's turn to teach her cooking and the best way  
to get stains out of a shirt. Not that the Nis let her come anywhere near the stove, but she  
did allow the child to mix ingredients together and grease pans and other minor cooking  
chores.

By midmorning school was finished for the day and I let her go outside and play,  
after first reminding her of her promise not to venture near the black pond on the far side of  
the pasture. The black pond was the abode of a very nasty nixie, a water sprite that liked to  
lure unwary people into her pond and drown them. We had an uneasy truce, old Lady Dire  
and I. I allowed her to live in the pond and she promised in turn not to lure people into the  
pond and drown them. That bargain had been struck several centuries ago, when I first built  
the house in the valley, and in all of that time the nixie had not had so much as a whiff of  
sweet immortal flesh to sate her appetite. She spent most of her days sitting at the bottom  
of the pond, playing sad songs upon her harp of bones and moaning about how she was  
wasting away from starvation.

That was a lie, since as a fae creature, she did not need to eat for sustenance, only  
pleasure. She'd gained the craving for human flesh long ago, when she lived in Midgard in  
a river with treacherous currents that brought her newly drowned victims as often as three  
times a month or more. Her tribute, she called it back then, and sometimes she would grab  
the victim of the capsized boat and hold him or her under so they could die quicker. She  
never told me why she'd been banished back to Asgard, though I'd guessed it was because  
she'd probably eaten someone she shouldn't have, like one of Odin's warrior heroes or  
something.

Lady Dire (a name I gave her and not her real one) tried her wiles on me when I first  
began building my house. I had worked hard that day using my powers to raise timbers set  
into the foundation and attach the roof beams. If you think this was an easy task simply  
because I used magic instead of physical strength think again! It's just as taxing using magic  
for that kind of thing as it is using muscles, and after the morning was over I was sweating  
and had a throbbing headache.

One of the consequences of my headache was a reduced appetite, but I forced myself  
to eat some bread and cheese, since I needed to replenish my energies. The bread was rather  
stale and the cheese dry (I didn't have Olga yet, and had to make do with the substandard  
cheese they make up at Valhalla). It left me with a raging thirst and the closest source of  
water was a large pond just west of my construction site. It was overhung with large willows  
and looked like a nice place for me to rest and maybe take a nap.

To placate whatever tree spirits might live here, I dug a small hole beside the largest  
tree and placed a bit of bread in it. Then I tossed the remainder of my lunch into the pond  
as an offering to whatever lived there. Normally that would have been enough for any  
ordinary water nixie. So I knelt down, splashed some water on my face, and then I bent over  
to drink some in my hands.

That was when Lady Dire showed herself, rising up from the depths, crooning a  
lovely ballad. Dire, like most nixies, has long tresses the color of seaweed, pale opal-  
colored skin, and slanted eyes the color of aquamarines, heavily fringed with dark lashes.  
Her hands are long and delicate looking with gauzy membranes between each finger. Her  
feet are also webbed and rather like flippers. Nixies don't bother much with clothing, they  
really don't need it, living as they do in the water. So all Dire had on was a very skimpy  
skirt of sea palm fronds and the rest of her lithe form was clothed only in her lustrous hair,  
which she'd decorated with shells and agates and polished stones.

Sounds like every man's fantasy, doesn't she? Believe me, nothing could be further  
from the truth. She lives to bewitch mortals, especially men and little children, into her  
embrace. Her nails are poisonous, one scratch from them and you'll go to sleep forever.  
Her arms look sweet and inviting, but once they wrap about you, you won't get free this side  
of heaven. Then there's her song, a nixie's most potent weapon. A nixie's song can be  
pleasant to listen to, if she's singing for sheer pleasure and not trying to make a meal of you.  
But when she's hunting that song is pure seduction, designed to make a man lose all reason  
and desire her above all things. Even to walking into a raging river fully clothed and  
surrendering himself to the current, deaf to the cries of his wife and family on the shore.  
Seven times out of ten an unprotected man will fall prey to her enchantment and meet a  
watery death.

Being a magician, I wasn't fooled by her glamour casting, and I saw through her  
lovelorn act immediately. Even so, her song was nearly powerful enough to make me  
consider taking her hand, for Dire was a very old and powerful nixie, and she'd had  
centuries to practice her craft.

But I'd made an offering, which negated her hold over me somewhat, and my natural  
resistance to glamour spells and beguiling enchantments was strong enough to overcome any  
lingering thoughts I may have had about embracing her.

"Nice try, lady, but your crocodile tears and your laments don't work on me," I said,  
drawing away from the edge of the lake.

Furious, she kicked her foot, splashing me with water, like a little child having a  
tantrum. "No fair, magician!" she cried, pouting. "You're the first man to come along in  
simply ages and you won't even do me the courtesy of becoming my dinner." She sighed,  
flicking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been so lonely, and I haven't had a decent rib  
bone or a nice liver to munch on in three centuries."

"My heart bleeds for you, nixie." I said. "Did people used to live here once before  
you drowned them?"

"No. Weren't you listening? No one ever comes here. The last time I had a man he  
was old and stringy. He gave me indigestion." She fluttered her lashes at me. "You seem  
tired, magician. Won't you take a nap in the shade of that willow there?"

"Not if it means you're going to command the roots to grab me and throw me into  
the pond," I said, wise to her tricks.

"Now, would I do that?" she said, pretending to be hurt. "I'm a nice girl. Well,  
some of the time," she purred, changing from innocent maiden to temptress in a flicker of  
an instant. "Don't you think I'm pretty?" she cooed, standing up and letting the water run  
off her skin, displaying all of her considerable charms.

"Oh, you're pretty. The way a viper's pretty," I laughed, ignoring the sudden surge  
of desire she provoked in me. "But I like my women warm and my bed on dry land, not the  
bottom of a lake."

"You wouldn't mind it once I took you in my arms, you handsome thing," Dire sang.  
"And you'd have all eternity to get used to it."

"As what? The newest skeleton in your collection? Thanks, but no."

"It wouldn't hurt, lover. And you'd experience rapture beyond your wildest dreams.  
You'd go to your death smiling. Trust me." She began to twirl about, using her body to  
weave a sinuous dance of desire that was the equal of any I'd ever seen performed in the  
bazaars of Arabia. "Come to me, come live with me and be my love, forever and ever," she  
sang, her voice sweet as honey and potent as Falernian wine.

She was using the full force of her powers and her voice made my skin quiver and  
my groin throb. My head felt like someone was beating it with a hammer and for an instant  
I allowed her sweet poison to take hold of my consciousness.

I swayed towards the lake edge, a foolish grin plastered on my face, the pain in my  
head dulling to a mere twinge. Dire continued to dance and sing, smiling invitingly.  
But there was a burning sensation at the base of my neck, and I glanced down,  
irritated at having my reverie interrupted. Once I saw my runestone, glowing white hot,  
suspended on its iron chain, her spell was broken. I wore a special rune of protection about  
my neck, and it was this that had saved me. Dire's song, powerful though it was, wasn't  
strong enough to overcome the twin forces of protective magic and iron.

I broke out in a cold sweat then at how close I'd come to walking right down her  
throat. _Loki, you stupid ass!_ I scolded myself sternly. _You know better than to be taken in  
by a water-breathing whore of a siren, no matter how tired you are or how much your head  
aches._Dire was not aware I'd broken free of her spell, for she was still gyrating and  
crooning. Something would have to be done about her, I resolved. I couldn't have her  
practicing her deadly wiles on anyone happening by, the souls of the drowned become  
draugr, unquiet ghosts that haunt the place where they died, generating auras of negative  
energy. That kind of aura would disrupt my spellcasting and I didn't want to live next to a  
haunted pond.

I was also angry at how she'd almost trapped me, and I decided to teach her a lesson  
about who really ruled here. So I pretended to be lured by her song, drifting closer and  
closer to the lake edge. Now that the runestone had broken her spell, I was in no danger of  
being beguiled a second time. I took a link from the iron chain about my neck and  
whispered a charm of enlarging and increase. I now held an iron chain the length of a man  
curled in my palm. It was thin, but it would serve to bind a nixie, who can't bear the touch  
of cold iron on her fae flesh.

The toes of my boots touched the surface of the lake and Dire quit singing and came  
for me in a flash, nails outstretched to scratch, ready to wrap me in a hug from which there  
would be no return. She was still smiling her siryn's grin.

The tips of her nails just grazed my shirt before I twirled the chain and wrapped it  
about her. At the first touch of iron on her flesh, she crumpled, wailing in pain and fury.  
"Aiee! You tricked me, magician! Cold iron is the enemy of all my kind." She wriggled like  
a hooked fish, but I shouted the words to a binding spell and the chain tightened about her  
like a net, leaving welts on her pale skin.

"Oh! Get it off, please! It burns!" she wept, salty tears trickling from her eyes.

"First I want your word, sworn upon your immortal name, that you'll never lure  
anyone, man, woman, or child, here and drown them."

"No! You can't make me swear that! I need their flesh to live."

"You don't. You can eat fish and cattail roots," I pointed out mercilessly.

"They taste nasty!" she spat, writhing. "I want some real food."

"I don't care. You're living on my land now, nixie, and that means you play by my  
rules. No drownings, accidentally or otherwise. I won't have draugr sending evil influences  
to disrupt my wards."

"You're cruel and nasty," she shrieked. "I wish I'd ripped your throat out when I had  
the chance, you deceitful bastard!"

"Now, now. You shouldn't talk like that about your master, Lady Dire," I drawled  
softly, but the look I gave her could have scorched the hide off an ox. "And I am your  
master, nixie, for I claim all the land here as far as the western boundary stones." I indicated  
the glittering white ward stones that marked the end of the boundary between my land and  
that of the rest of Asgard, which belonged to no one in particular. "This pond is on my  
property and therefore it—and you, sweet thing—fall under my jurisdiction."

"Oooh, how I hate you! If I could get free of this blasted chain, I'd show you who's  
master here, you icy-hearted son of a squid!" Dire cursed.

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited until she'd exhausted herself fighting  
my chain, turning the air blue with her curses. At last she was still, gasping for breath, her  
face wet with tears of rage and pain.

"You done with your little tantrum, fish girl?" I inquired. "Good. Now I'm going  
to ask you again, and this time you'd better answer me nicely, or else I'm going to get mad.  
And you won't like it if that happens. Because if you make me mad, I'll leave you here for  
the rest of the day and let the sun bake your bones and dry out your hair and burn that fair  
skin of yours black."

"You _wouldn't_!"

"Try me."

"All right. I'll swear to whatever you want!" she sobbed, her head drooping.

"Do you promise upon your immortal name?" I asked sharply, for only then would  
she be bound to keep her word.

"Yes!"

"Repeat after me then. _I swear upon my immortal name to never seduce, with song,  
magic, glamour, or feminine wiles of any kind any traveler or guest, who sets foot upon the  
land of Loki the Magician of Asgard for all of forever. Should I break my oath I will also  
be bound to whatever punishment my master chooses to mete out to me, up to and including  
my death."  
_  
"There! I've sworn your damn oath, now will you let me go?"

"Your wish is my command, lady," I said and spoke the word that shrunk the chain  
to a single iron link again.

The nixie climbed to her feet and dove back into the water where the icy liquid could  
soothe the welts left by the iron from her skin. She resurfaced a minute later, hissing at me.

"Someday, Loki, you will regret this bargain, I promise you!"

"Not in this life. And Dire, make no mistake, if you break your word, I'll know and  
then I'll come back here and kill you with fire and iron."

"An empty threat, magician. For I'll not be tricked into breaking my word. I'll  
outlive you yet!" Then she dove back into the pond to curl up in her watery bed and lick her  
wounds.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back as I walked away from there. There were few  
Aesir who could have gotten the better of that slippery sea hag in a battle of wits. I was  
quite proud of the way I'd bound her so neatly to her word. And done it without maiming  
or seriously hurting her, except her pride. Why didn't I kill her that day? I certainly could  
have done so, a fact we both knew very well.

Two reasons. One, I'm not in the habit of killing someone arbitrarily. The nixie,  
while an unpleasant creature, still had the same right to live as I did. Two, I'm not the kind  
of hero who rides about ridding the world of evil. I'll leave that kind of thing to the Sigurds  
and Baldurs of the world. They would have seen it as their bound duty to slay her, for  
according to their creed she was an "evil" creature. I saw her as a predator, dangerous and  
not to be trusted, but no more evil than a crocodile or a shark, who also ate human flesh if  
they could get it. So long as she did me no harm, I would leave her be.

But if the day ever arrived when she became a danger, I would kill her without  
regrets, the same way a shepherd killed a rogue wolf stalking his flock.

For centuries, we had a truce, and we went our separate ways. I avoided the  
pond and she never tried to seduce me with her song again, though sometimes on misty  
nights when the moon was full I would hear her singing, very softly, to herself.

Little did I know that all of that would change the day I adopted a green-eyed  
whirlwind. As soon as she was old enough to understand and able to walk outside for short  
stretches, I told Bella about Lady Dire, stressing the fact that the nixie was a Bad Creature  
and she must never venture near the pond. I reminded her of this fact every time I let her  
go outside to play in the barn or in the pasture which bordered the pond. I also told her that  
the nixie was bound with my magic not to hurt people, but she was to stay away from the  
pond anyway.

Bella was usually an obedient child, and sensible, so I did not worry too much that  
she would disobey me. I should have known better. The lure of the forbidden is an  
irresistible force when you're a child, especially one who was as curious as Bella.

My complacency nearly cost me dearly. The morning of that near-disastrous French  
lesson, I sent her out to play as usual, intending to join her as soon as I'd grabbed my rune  
satchel. I wanted to renew the wards on the boundary stones that afternoon, they required  
renewing every century or so to keep the spell fresh and able to keep out trolls, giants, draugr  
and any other harmful influences.

I walked out with my rune sticks, ready to redraw the sigils at each of the four basalt  
posts that marked the boundaries of my property. The first one was about a yard from the  
house, and I lit the tip of one ash rod and drew the rune for protection, eohir, in blue fire, at  
the top of the post and then sealed the ward with my personal mark, a stylized flame. A line  
of blue light stretched from the pillar across the north end of my land.

I turned my head to see where Bella was, and saw she was playing quietly with her  
doll and some wooden animals I'd carved for her last year. She was serving them pretend  
tea and cakes made out of pieces of bark and leaves. Seeing her safely occupied, I blurred  
into wolf shape, and covered the distance to the next boundary stone in a twinkling. Then  
I shifted back and reset the next ward. From there I loped on to the third stone, in the east  
corner. Then I made my way back down to the last one, redrawing the sigil with the last ash  
rod. The wards were humming with renewed energy and I was satisfied they'd hold against  
anything short of a concentrated attack by several master witches or wizards.

Bella was still playing tea party beneath the oak tree in the corner of the yard. By  
then my stomach was growling and I was going to go inside and grab some lunch, perhaps  
have a picnic on the lawn with Bella, when an unexpected visitor came knocking at my gate.

I hurried down the drive to open it, wondering who on earth would come visit me in  
the middle of the day. Baldur had an open invitation to come up to the house, he never  
knocked. And I hadn't spoken with my other relatives in years. I threw the bolt on the stout  
six-foot oaken gate and swung it open.

There stood Odin, in his gray travel cloak and seven-league boots, walking staff in  
his hand. "Hello, Loki. Mind if I come in for a bit?"

"Come in and be welcome," I said, stepping back so he could enter. Once he done  
so, I bolted the gate behind him. "What brings you here, brother?" I asked as we walked  
back up the drive. "From your clothes, I'd say it looks like you're going wandering again."  
Odin only wore his gray outfit when he was going to make a trip down to Midgard in the  
guise of the Wanderer. He did this periodically to test the hospitality of his worshippers and  
to relieve the boredom of ruling Asgard for centuries at a time.

"I am. It's that time of year again," he answered, his one eye twinkling. "You know  
as soon as spring comes I get restless. Asgard is beautiful, but I need to see something  
besides endless green hills and golden meadows."

"And you need to hear something other than the endless bickering and drunken  
boasting of your family," I added with a soft laugh.

"That too. So I figured as long as I was in the area I'd stop by and see how you were  
doing. How's that daughter of yours doing? Bet she keeps you on your toes, eh, Master  
Mischief?" he said with a knowing grin.

"That she does, brother. She's growing like a weed. Three years old and she's  
already reading and writing," I said proudly. "Before you know it she'll be reciting what's  
his name—that blind Greek poet, the one who wrote those poems about the Trojan War."

"Homer," Odin supplied. "You surprise me, Loki. I never would have figured you  
for the domestic type. What's happened to the wily rascal I used to know, the one who used  
to have all those crazy adventures with me?"

"Oh, he's in here somewhere," I laughed, tapping my chest. "But he's taking a break  
for now. Raising this child is enough of an adventure for me right now, brother." I said,  
ignoring the subtle hints he was throwing at me to come along with him. Much as I liked  
traveling around Midgard, I wasn't ready to leave Bella this early in her development.  
Besides, I had been down to visit Midgard already in the last three years, so I was not quite  
the housebound recluse he thought.

"Did you get the gift I sent you for her birthday?" he asked as we continued strolling  
leisurely towards the house. He'd never seen my daughter save for once when she was a tiny  
baby, but he never forgot her birthday, which was the anniversary of her arrival on my  
doorstep.

"You mean the magic brush that makes tangles disappear from her hair?" I clarified.  
"Oh, yes. It's been very useful, especially since she's taken to trying to brush her hair on her  
own. In fact, I was going to have her write you a thank you note, but since you're here, she  
can tell you in person." I darted a glance under the tree where she'd been just a few minutes  
before, playing with her doll.

She was gone, though her doll and the remains of the tea party were still there.  
"Huh. She must have gone inside to get a drink or something." I gestured for Odin to  
proceed me up the porch steps. "Speaking of drinks, care for one?"

"If you don't mind. Got any ale?"

"Uh, no. You know I can't stand the stuff. But wine I have. Or cider."

"I've never been able to figure out your dislike of ale, Loki." Odin said, shaking his  
head. "It's the national drink of our worshippers, so by all rights you ought to love it."

"Not necessarily," I defended myself. "It gives me dreadful hangovers. And since  
I don't relish waking up the morning after puking and all, I'll stick to wine and cider. They  
taste better too."

"I didn't think you ever drank enough to even get a hangover."

"I don't any more. Not after the first few times I sampled your blasted mead and  
ended up sick as a dog. You wouldn't have noticed back then since you were probably as  
bad as I was. I don't see you drinking a barrel any more either, like the rest of your sons,  
brother mine."

"Frigga gets mad when I'm drunk too many times in a row. Last time she threatened  
to belt me in the jaw and make me sleep with the goats if I came to bed drunk again." Odin  
said ruefully. "Her temper's worse than any hangover, trust me."

We entered the house and I went to draw a cup of fermented cider from the single  
barrel I kept in the corner. "Ava, have you seen Bella? I want her to come and say hello to  
Odin."

The Nis turned from where she was polishing some glasses. "No, Master. I hasn't  
seen her since she went outside to play after lessons."

"That's odd. Didn't she come back in here a minute ago?" I said, getting an uneasy  
prickle of warning between my shoulderblades.

"Not that I noticed, sir." She then turned to greet Odin.

"Bella!" I called, peering up the ladder to the loft. "Come down and say hello to  
your Uncle Odin."

No response. Normally she'd be down like a shot, Bella loves meeting people.  
"Where the devil has she got to?" I muttered, getting annoyed. "Maybe she went out to the  
barn to see Heror and Olga." I mused. The sick feeling in my stomach was growing and I  
told myself sternly to stop overreacting. My workroom was spell-locked and there was  
nothing in the barn or the yard that she could get into and since I'd reset the wards nothing  
could get in and hurt her. The only thing on the whole place that might harm her was safely  
bound with magic, and she wouldn't go near the pond to begin with, I reassured myself.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind, then Bella began screaming, one long  
drawn out wail of pure mortal terror. She never screamed like that and the sound froze the  
blood in my veins. Worse, in the background I heard the nixie crooning her familiar lullaby.

"DIRE!" I howled, fear and rage such as I'd never known surging through me like  
a tidal wave. I snatched the rapier I kept over my mantle and thrust it in my belt.

I bolted out of the house and willed myself to the pond with the speed of thought.

I appeared out of the air in a flurry of blue and red sparks, my magic reacting to my  
fury.

The sight that greeted my eyes was one from my blackest nightmares. There was  
Dire, her long hair swirling about her like a living thing, one foot in the lake and the other  
on the shore, holding my baby in the crook of her arm, caressing her little face with a nail  
and singing a Scandinavian lullaby in her deadly sweet voice.

Bella was no longer screaming, but she was crying silently, scared to death. "Papa!  
Help me!" she wailed.

"Let her go, Dire." I panted, my heart beating so hard I felt as if it was going to fly  
out of my chest.

"Papa, help me!" she mimicked, laughing softly. "Did I not say one day you'd regret  
our bargain, magician?" she said silkily, stroking a hand down my child's hair. "Good things  
come to those who wait, so the mortals say." She was licking her lips.

"You've broken your oath, you hag of hell," I spat, trembling with rage and fear.  
"You know what that means, don't you?"

"Not so, Loki!" she challenged, clutching the squirming Bella tighter. "My oath was  
to do no harm to travelers and guests that set foot on your land. You never said anything  
about family." She bared her teeth in triumph.

I swore inwardly. Technically she was right. I hadn't bothered to include my  
relatives in my provision because all of them were capable of protecting themselves against  
her and in any case I never expected one of them to seek me out for anything save a short  
visit. It had never occurred to me to alter the letter of our agreement once Bella came to live  
with me.

"Not so clever are we now, little firehair?" Dire sneered. "She's fair game, since  
she's neither guest nor traveler. And you know what? I didn't even need my song to lure her  
to me. She saw me sitting here, combing my hair out and she came to see me all by herself,  
the little chick. What pretty hair you have, says she. And I say I've got lots prettier things  
in this box here, would you like to see? And I show her my pretty gold and gems, treasures  
I claimed from my victims long and long ago. And she comes right over to see the lovely  
sparkles and then I grab her! Such a curious little kitten, I tell her. But you know what  
mortals say about curiosity and cats, don't you magician?" she taunted, laughing shrilly.  
"They say curiosity killed the cat! And they'd be right."

I was sweating now, nearly frantic with fear. I dared not move against her directly,  
for she could turn and dive into the pond quicker than a flash and once down there she  
would be in her element and I knew I would never be able to get Bella out of there in time.  
I had one chance to rescue my daughter from her slimy clutches. I had to stall for time.

"Look, Dire, let's make a deal," I said, playing for time. "You give me back my  
daughter and I won't hurt you."

"Give her back? The first tasty morsel I've had in years?" she cackled. "I think not,  
magician! And she's so strong, so full of life. She's a water witch of great potential, did you  
know that? Oh yes, someday she'll be able to foretell storms and command the waves and  
speak with selkies and mermaids. A powerfully Gifted child! One day she might even have  
been able to command me. That's how she was able to resist my song for so long, you see.  
But she's not a match for me yet, oh no, not yet darling. Maybe when you're grown . . .but  
you'll never live to grow up, now will you?" Dire snickered at her own wit, giving Bella a  
tender look, the way one might look at a steak arranged on a platter.

I shivered in revulsion. Bella's struggles had loosened the nixie's grip somewhat,  
though not enough for her to slip free. But there was space between my child and the nixie's  
right arm, which she was using to hold Bella to her chest. It was an opening nearly wide  
enough for a sword thrust, if I timed it correctly.

Now I'm no master swordsman, but I learned how to fight from the best masters in  
Spain and Italy and my sword was a rapier of the finest Spanish steel. I'd traded the  
Diamond of Belize for it and it was worth a king's ransom. I shut my eyes, focusing all of  
my concentration and will upon the slight opening beneath the nixie's arm. I had one chance  
to thrust my rapier home. If I failed, my daughter would never see the sun again.

_Bella, sweetheart, listen to me_, I sent to her using my telepathy. She was a latent  
telepath as well, so I knew she'd hear me. _Don't say anything, just lean off to your left a  
little. I'm going to get you out of her arms, I swear it, but I need you to move just a bit,  
okay?  
_  
_Okay._ I caught her slender thought and opened my eyes.

My brave child suddenly started squirming in the nixie's grasp, leaning over to her  
other side, forcing Dire to take her eyes off me for a moment to adjust her hold on Bella.

Leaving her right side unguarded for one precious minute.

My sword was out of its sheath and lunging toward that hole beneath her arm in a  
flash.

The rapier's tip pierced the nixie's pale flesh like a hot knife through butter.

Dire screeched in agony, dropping Bella to clutch instinctively at her wounded side.  
Deep green blood was spurting from the wound, which I judged was a fatal one. I withdrew  
my sword, just as my child scrambled up onto the bank and threw herself at my feet, safely  
beyond the reach of the mortally wounded nixie.

"I warned you once, Dire. Now you pay the price," I growled, and with a gesture I  
coated my blade with fire. Then I plunged the fiery sword right beneath her left breast,  
killing her instantly. Her body caught fire like an oil-soaked torch then, and for the span of  
about thirty seconds she became a pillar of incandescent flame, soaring to the heavens.  
Then the fire went out and all that remained of the nixie was a fine gray ash that coated the  
top of the pond in a scummy film.

I sheathed my sword, my knees giving way in relief. I sank to the ground at the edge  
of the pond, and Bella crawled into my arms and I held her so tightly she gasped for breath.  
"Are you hurt?" I managed to ask. "Did she scratch you?"

"No." Bella answered, hugging me close.

Fear was becoming replaced by anger now and I snapped, "What were you doing  
here? How many times have I told you never to go near this pond?" I half-shook her, then  
I stopped and simply held her, whispering prayers of thanksgiving to the Norns that I had  
been in time.

"I'm sorry!" Bella wailed, then she began to bawl in earnest, great gulping sobs that  
shook her entire frame.

"If one of mine had disobeyed me like that, I'd have given them a good whipping,"  
Odin said from behind me.

"Shut up. Just shut up!" I ordered raggedly. I climbed to my feet, holding my  
precious child close. "The damn nixie nearly drowned her and all you say is I should _beat  
_her? Have you lost your wits?"

"The nixie actually had her? I thought she only threatened the kid. That's different  
then. Sorry."

"Save it," I growled, half-running the rest of the way back to the house. Bella was  
still crying, though the force of her sobs had diminished somewhat. "You're okay, baby.  
No one's ever gonna hurt you like that again," I whispered in her ear.

I kicked open the door, saying over my shoulder, "Make yourself at home. I'll be  
back in just a minute. I need to get her out of these wet clothes and tucked in bed."

I carried her into my bedroom, setting her down carefully on the bed. "Stay right  
there, darling. I'll be right back," I said gently, leaving to grab a towel from my linen chest  
in the closet and a warm nightgown.

I muttered a quick spell to dry out my shirt, which was soaking wet. Then I took  
towels and nightgown and returned to my child, who was sitting up exactly where I'd left  
her, soaking wet and shivering.

"Are you gonna spank me like he said?" she asked. "I'm sorry I was bad."

"Hush. Of course I'm not going to spank you. Gods, Bella, you've been punished  
enough. I nearly lost you." I gently removed her wet clothes and wrapped her up in the  
towel, hugging her to me as I dried her, tears falling onto her still-damp hair. I held her and  
rocked her, weeping silently.

"Don't cry, Papa," she lisped suddenly, and reached out a hand to pat my cheek.

I sat up then, ashamed and amused all at once. _I _was the one who should be  
comforting her, not the other way around. I dried her hair with magic then bundled her into  
her nightgown and underclothes. "Feel better now?" I asked, kissing her forehead.

"Yes. M'sleepy." She murmured, cuddling against my chest.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," I said, weaving a sleeping charm about her so she would  
sleep soundly without dreams.

I warmed her sheets with a gentle heat spell, since it was a bit chilly. Then I tucked  
her into bed and left the lamp on. She should sleep for several hours. I called Ava and  
asked her to watch her for a bit. "She should sleep for a long time, but I want you near just  
in case she throws off the sleeping charm." I instructed. "Call me if she wakes."

"Certainly, Master. Poor little mite! That wicked nixie! I always knew she'd come  
to a bad end. I'm glad you roasted her like she deserved."

_Roasted_, I thought wryly. An apt description for what I'd done, indeed. Ava shooed  
me gently from the room, and when I glanced back she had already begun stripping the wet  
sheets from my bed.

I found Odin at the table, eating bread, cheese, and smoked ham that Ava had  
obviously set out for him. He had also drawn himself another cup of cider.

I seated myself opposite him and helped myself to some food, Ava had already  
poured me a cup of wine. After the day I'd had, I probably needed the whole bottle.

"Is she all right?"

"Yeah. I put a sleep charm on her. She wasn't hurt, thank the Norns. Only soaked  
to the skin and scared to death. When I think of what could have happened . . ." I shuddered.  
"I should have killed that damn nixie years ago."

"It's dead now? You killed it, didn't you?" I nodded. "I apologize for that stupid  
comment. I should have kept my mouth shut, but when I got there all I heard was you  
yelling how many times have I told you to stay away from here? D'you know how many  
times I said that to one of mine? Usually right after they'd just wrecked the place. I didn't  
think. I thought you'd caught her teasing it or something and you had driven it away. Thor  
used to torment the one we had in our lake something awful till I got sick of it and thrashed  
him one day. If I'd known it had actually come out of the pond and grabbed her . . ."

"Forget it. You're entitled to say something stupid every century or so, O Wise  
One." I teased lightly. "I forgot you weren't there for the whole thing."

"When you took off, I thought you'd yelled something about fire, so I followed you  
outside looking for one by the barn, but when I didn't see one I went towards that little  
orchard. I can't see too good with only one eye, and it was only after I saw the pillar of fire  
down by the pond that I headed there. I knew I should have brought Hugin and Munin with  
me."

"Speaking of your ravens . . ." I began, taking a quick gulp of sweet Chian wine. "I  
need you to ask them a favor."

"Name it."

"Tell them to quit teaching my daughter how to swear in ten different languages."  
I told him about the word list and he burst out laughing. So did I.

"Damn rascals! Still, even you have to admit it was a good prank."

"Not according to Bella. I threatened to spank her over it."

"You'd thrash her over a couple of swear words? Hells, if I hit mine every time they  
said one, they'd be black and blue forever."

"She's only three, brother, not three thousand," I reminded him.

"Oh. Right. I keep forgetting how young she is, you talk about her as if she were  
much older."

"That's because she's too smart for her age," I said. "But then, I should have  
expected that. After all she is my daughter."

"Not by blood."

"That doesn't matter," I said firmly. "I love her just as much, if not more, than I  
would a child of my body. _I'm_ her father, not whoever sired her. There's more to being a  
father than just siring children." I broke off my lecture with a rueful grin. "Guess I don't  
need to tell you that, do I?"

"Not really, but I was going to let you anyhow. You've changed since you became  
a parent, little brother."

"For the better, I hope."

"There's no comparison," Odin said, straight-faced.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out, Smartass."

I glared at him. Then I started to laugh again. I love Odin. He's one of the few  
people who can make me laugh at myself.

**Next: An unexpected person visits Loki's house, and once again the magician finds himself an unlikly rescuer.**


	8. Leif the Unlucky

**Leif the Unlucky**

﻿After Bella's near death by drowning, I fashioned her a pendant similar to my own,  
a runestone of protection. I hunted for a rock that had been worn smooth by water, with a  
hole occurring in it naturally, that I could string a chain of cold iron. For that I sought the  
icy cold depths of the Njordian Sea that separated Asgard from the home of the frost giants,  
known as Jotunheim. I found what I sought after a few hours, and returned to my workshop  
to finish preparing it.

I cast spells of permanency and water resistance on the chain I would thread through  
it. The stone was a lovely swirled green and blue agate, shot through with streaks of white and  
turquoise. I took an ash wood wand and carefully drew _eohir_, the rune of protection upon  
it. Then I used the ash wand as a conduit and activated the rune with my magic, and it  
burned itself into the stone, infusing it with the properties of the rune I'd drawn. Rune  
magic isn't that hard to learn, though the potency of the runes and spells depend on the  
wizard casting them. I made this runestone extra strong, for I was taking no chances with  
Bella's life. On the opposite side I etched the runic sign for Bella's name.

So long as she wore the stone she would be protected from beguilement and other  
enchantments similar to the one Dire had cast, spells of fire and ice, illusion, lightning, and  
drowning. When I was done, I bathed the runestone in a milky bath of almond milk, honey  
and ground dragon's teeth. This made it glow in the dark and sealed the magic deep within  
the stone.

I removed it and laid it out to dry on a bed of black velvet. In an hour or so it would  
be dry enough to be worn. I should have fashioned one for her years ago, but I'd arrogantly  
thought she'd not need one till she was older, since I'd always be around to protect her. That  
was one mistake I'd _never_ repeat again.

For weeks following the nixie's attack, Bella had woken from a sound sleep  
screaming. I was hoping the runestone would help alleviate those nightmares. Time would  
do the rest.

I presented the runestone to her at supper that night, placing it about her neck and  
saying that she must never remove it, not even when she was taking a bath. She loved it,  
saying it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever owned.

I breathed a sigh of relief once the runestone was about her neck. Even so, it was  
months before I let her out of my sight. As mortals are wont to say, once bitten twice shy.

* * * * * *  
Now I'm going to fast forward this narrative about twelve years ahead, to the year  
Bella turned fifteen. Not that the years inbetween were uneventful ones, since every day  
with my daughter brought something new, but if I detailed every event in her life I would  
fill several books. Suffice to say that my daughter grew from curious toddler to self-assured  
young woman in a heartbeat, or so it seemed.

Her language lessons had long since been replaced by ones in magic when she was  
ten and her powers had begun to manifest themselves. As Dire had predicted, Bella's Talent  
was as a water witch, though she could also work spells of ice and wind and light. Since my  
affinity was for fire, I could only teach her the most basic water spells, and so I arranged  
with Ran, who was one of the most potent sea mages in Asgard, to teach her what I could  
not. I was by no means the only magician among the Aesir, simply one of the strongest ever  
born. In order for Bella to hone her Talent to that necessary razor keenness so essential to  
a powerfully Gifted magician, I sent her to stay with Ran in her palace for half a year at a  
time.

That first time, I very nearly stayed with her, but Ran put her foot down and told me  
quite firmly to leave. "She'll never become a truly competent mage with you hovering over  
her, Loki," my cousin said. "She needs to learn how to be independent and she's not going  
to if she's got you to lean on every time she makes a mistake. She isn't the first apprentice  
I've trained, you know. I'll take care of her, I promise. I treat my apprentices like my  
children. Now go back home, Master Mischief, and I'll send for you in another six months."

I knew Ran was right and that I had to let her go. So I kissed her goodbye, told her  
to be good and learn her lessons, cried a bit, and returned home. I'd left her a magic mirror  
to use if she needed to talk with me, it was one of a pair I'd made long ago and never used.  
The first month she used it almost daily, saying she missed me and Ava and Heror terribly.  
But by the second month she had gotten over her bout of homesickness and hardly used it  
at all.

I took her departure harder than she did, I think. I'd grown so used to having her  
underfoot, that when she was gone, I was dreadfully lonely. I think most parents feel this  
way when their children leave home the first time. Or at least they do if they like their  
children. Maybe for some parents it's different, and they can't wait to get rid of their  
offspring. Such was not the case with us, and as I'd said, during the first month she was  
away, I was at loose ends. Ava missed her too and we comforted each other as best we  
could. Gradually, I grew used to the idea and since it was only half a year, eventually I  
learned not to mind and even to look forward to it, especially once she was thirteen, and had  
become a mature woman with the onset of her first woman's time.

Unlike most fathers, who become tongue-tied and are reduced to babbling idiots  
when it came to discussing things of a female nature back then, it was left to me to explain  
the facts of life to my daughter. I didn't have the luxury of sending her to ask her mother  
because she didn't have one. Ava was worse than useless with this sort of thing, since  
Nisses had no clue what changes an adolescent girl went through. Therefore it fell to me to  
explain what was happening to her and how to deal with it.

I managed it quite neatly, I thought, giving her the facts of the matter succinctly and  
without referring to it as a curse or something to be dreaded the way so many mortal women  
were taught at that time. I thought that attitude utterly ridiculous, it was a perfectly natural  
process and should be celebrated, not painted with superstitious nonsense. I must have done  
a good job, because when the day arrived, she was neither frightened or confused. In fact,  
she was excited, and once she'd told me, I had a small party to celebrate her new status, and  
invited Sigyn and Nanna to it.

I took the two older women aside and asked them to take Bella aside and discuss any  
particulars they thought she might need to know. "I _did _explain to her the bare minimum,  
but I'm a man and I don't have details the way you two do and I'd appreciate it if you'd, uh,  
instruct her a bit more thoroughly."

The two chuckled and Sigyn said, "Of course we will, Loki. You're a dear to even  
consider such a thing, so many men don't you know, they prefer to pretend such things don't  
exist."

I rolled my eyes. "Ridiculous. Where do they suppose babies come from, acorns?"

For some reason both of them found this answer hilarious, and I left them laughing  
quietly and when dinner was over they took my daughter off in the parlor and filled her in  
on the women's mysteries that I, as a mere male, was not privileged enough to know.

Bella told me later that they were very kind and had given her a tea recipe to make,  
and I recognized it as one of my own herbal brews that I used to make Sigyn during that time  
to ease cramps and headaches. It was then that I taught Bella how to defend herself from  
the unwanted attentions of an amorous male. She was far too young to even consider going  
to bed with a man, but I didn't trust most of the young bucks up at Valhalla to realize this,  
especially when they were in their cups. The runestone would protect her against magic, but  
not physical attacks, and thus I taught her the value of a quick knee to the groin and a heel  
to the back of the knee and a right cross to the jaw.

"If any man dares to lay a hand on you, you do just what I've told you, then you  
come find me and I'll make it clear to him such behavior is highly inappropriate."

"How?" she asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"I'll bash his brains in," I answered shortly. "Or turn him into a worm, depending  
on the mood I'm in. I think he'll get the message afterwards."

"Oh." Then she said, "You won't have to worry about doing that, since no man is  
interested in me that way, Papa."

"Good. Make sure it stays that way."

When she turned fifteen, she blossomed into a lovely young woman and I dreaded  
having to deal with a father's worst nightmare—boys coming to court her. I considered  
locking her in her room until she was twenty or thirty, then remembered that I'd taught her  
how to pick locks, so that wouldn't work. Then too, I was afraid if I made too much of a big  
deal, she would feel obligated to play the rebel, so I simply resigned myself to spending the  
rest of her teenage years giving nasty looks to all the young men who dared to notice her  
when we chanced to go to Valhalla to trade or visit Odin. I'd long since had the dreaded  
Talk with her regarding pregnancy and sex, giving her a charm for infertility to use, though  
I stressed the importance of saving herself for her husband. "When you decide to give  
yourself to a man it should mean something special, not just a moment's pleasure for a  
single night. For if a man ever _does_ get you pregnant, best make sure he intends to marry  
you, because I'll be damned if some Jack-Be-Nimble will make free with _my_ daughter and  
then think he can go merrily on his way like nothing ever happened."

Thus far she'd not showed any preference for any young man, to my vast relief,  
though I'd caught several of them eyeing her when they thought I wasn't looking. I felt like  
hanging a Don't Touch Me sign about her neck and accompanying her everywhere carrying  
a huge club. It wasn't that I didn't trust her to exercise restraint or discretion, I did. It was  
the men I didn't trust, especially now since Odin was away on one of his wandering  
journeys. This time he'd left Thor in charge, don't ask me why, and the mead hall was a  
place of drunken parties, endless feasts, and mock combat contests that inevitably ended in  
broken heads, bruises and broken bones.

I was often called upon to treat those who'd overindulged or who'd gotten on the  
wrong side of someone's fist or knife. So I had observed first hand that the Aesir ladies no  
longer remained in the hall after supper, but retired to somewhere safe above the mead hall,  
taking even the young serving girls with them, and leaving the bachelors and such to be  
served by the male servants instead. I got the impression that in the beginning they had  
protested the fact that Thor was turning their home into a bar and a brothel, but it had done  
no good, since Thor had been given regency while Odin was gone, and therefore had free  
reign to do what he liked, no matter how inappropriate such behavior was.

I was doubly grateful that Bella was away studying with Ran for the autumn and  
winter of that year, since she would be protected from any unwanted advances in Ran's  
home. I need never fear for Bella's virtue at Oceanica, since all those who lived there knew  
the apprentices of the Mistress of Waves were sacrosanct. Ran took her duties as a guardian  
very seriously and I'd yet to meet a man (myself included) who'd dare to cross her in her  
own realm.

I felt sorry for the young women bondservants, who had no choice but to work in and  
around the mead hall. On one occasion when I'd come there to treat the victim of a drunken  
brawl (she'd had her face split open by a warrior's fist), I handed out charms of immobility  
to her and her companions. Said charms would stun a man for at least ten minutes, allowing  
a harassed maid to escape his hands and get to safety above stairs. There had already been  
one young woman who'd hung herself after being forced to service several warriors one  
night and it made me furious to see the depths which Valhalla had sunk since Thor had been  
made regent. Such a thing would have never happened when Odin was in residence, and  
well they knew it. Thor had even dared to ask me to come and provide magical  
entertainment for his feasts, as though I were some kind of court flunky, performing tricks  
for pay like a street musician! I laughed in his face and told him to learn how to juggle cups  
and saucers, that would seem like magic to his friends. Then I walked out, ignoring his  
bellowed order that I had to obey him since he was my Regent. _Odin, my brother, what in  
hell were you thinking to leave that imbecile in charge while you were gone? I know he's  
your son, but a dog would be a better ruler than he is, by Surtur's fiery beard._

I resolved to keep Bella far from Valhalla when she returned home from school this  
year. Baldur agreed with me, he too was disgusted with how his brother was running things,  
and he stayed far from the mead hall as well. "Otherwise I might be tempted to throttle him  
just on principle, the drunken ass. All he thinks about are three things, food, mead, and sex.  
And the only people of importance in Asgard right now are Me, Myself, and I," he'd  
declared angrily last time I'd spoken with him. "I wish Father'd get his wandering ass back  
home and throw these dogs out in the gutter where they belong. It's a crime when your own  
capital isn't a fit place for decent people."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly. It's too bad we can't send a message to Odin and  
tell him the state of affairs," I sighed. "But you know as well as I that when he travels in  
Midgard, he does so incognito and the only way he'd come home immediately was if Asgard  
were under threat of destruction. Unfortunately, Thor's negligence doesn't qualify."

Baldur shook his head in disgust. "You know the only reason Father named my  
brother regent was because he was badgered to death by Thor. I'm the eldest son, so by  
rights I should get a chance to rule and all that bullshit. So Father took pity on him and gave  
him regency this time around, and look at what he's done to the place! Made it no better than  
a cheap brothel and a tavern. We might as well hang out a sign—Whores and Free Beer  
Here!—and be done with it. Norns only know what's going to be left by the time Father  
does come home. But I'll tell you one thing, Loki. I'm not going to take the blame for  
anything that goes wrong in Valhalla during Thor's reign. Whatever mess my brother's  
made of the kingdom, he can damn well deal with it himself or be answerable to Father."

I couldn't blame Baldur for his surly attitude. I felt the same. I was tired of taking  
the blame for Thor's stupidity. I'd been doing it for too many centuries, the first time was  
when his blasted hammer got stolen by the giants because he was too lazy to lock it up when  
he went to sleep one night. Left it right out in the open on the table where any thief worthy  
of the name could come in and snatch it. Talk about dumb! Then when the hammer turned  
up missing and he received the note from the giant king saying the only way he'd ever see  
his precious Mjolnir again was to forfeit Freya as bride to the giant king, he came whining  
to me. _Loki, I need your help. Only your cunning can get us out of this dilemma._ Which  
I did in record time too! Did he ever come up to me once afterward and say, thanks Loki for  
saving my ass, you're a real pal? No. Instead I get grief over the fact that we had to disguise  
ourselves as women in order to crash the wedding and get the hammer back. Says he ruined  
his reputation as a big tough warrior by dressing up like a girl. Fenris' bloody skull!

Well, this was one time I was going to stay out of Valhalla and let Mr. Big Brave  
Warrior run things his way without any advice from me. At least that way I couldn't be  
blamed when things fell apart. And maybe Odin would think twice before he left his eldest  
in charge again.

Or so I intended. But you know the old saying, the best laid plans of mice and men  
. . .I kept my resolve for over six months, not setting foot in Valhalla, and was kept abreast  
of the gossip at court by the servants who came each week to pick up my cheese and butter.  
Things were going to hell in a handcart. Big surprise there. Thor had quarreled with his  
mother, and Frigga had packed up her ladies and retired to her summer palace, followed by  
Sif, Freya, and the rest of the noble ladies. With the women gone, the last shred of moral  
decency had been buried, and the only rule in the mead hall was the whim of its drunken  
master and his friends.

Bella had returned home from her sojourn at Ran's palace, looking more beautiful  
and more poised than ever. Her magical studies were proceeding at an accelerated rate due  
to her superior Talent and brains. I was very pleased and so was she.

"Though I'm glad to be home now, Father. I love Ran, but after awhile, I need to see  
the grass and the sky again. And I miss Ava's cooking. Nobody down there knows how to  
make bread," she said the first night she'd arrived back at the house.

"I see. You missed the grass, the sky, and Ava's cooking. What about me? Don't  
I rate a smidgen of feeling?"

"Of course you do!" she laughed, and came around the table to kiss my cheek. "I  
always miss you. That goes without saying."

"Glad to hear it. At least _someone_ appreciates me," I smiled, hugging her back.  
"I'm glad you're home too, sunshine. I could've used your help as a medical assistant this  
past winter. And your horse has been pining for you something awful."

"I'll bring her an apple and some sugar right after dinner," Bella said. "Maybe I'll  
even go for a ride."

"This late? It'll be dark soon."

"So? I'm not afraid to go riding in the dark. And Flicker can see in the dark like a  
cat, just like Heror. I'm not a child, Father, so you needn't worry that something will come  
along and steal me away. I can take care of myself. I fought a giant squid and bunch of sea  
trolls just a month ago, you know. They tried to break into the royal stables and make off  
with Ran's magic chariot and her trio of dolphins . . . ."

I listened avidly as she related her adventures in the sea kingdom, both proud and  
apprehensive of the risks she took. She was shaping up to become a formidable mage, one  
that would be a match for any warlock in Asgard and probably Vanaheim and Jotunheim as  
well. She reminded me a bit of myself at that age, impulsive, adventurous, and eager to  
prove myself. Of course she was much more self-assured than I'd been, that came from  
having a family and a home. It made a big difference. She had never known what it meant  
to have to fight for what should have been yours by right, nor felt the keen sting of bitter  
rejection because you were an orphan without family. Nor would she ever know, for I was  
determined that though we'd been born to similar beginnings, her fate would never be mine.

I could give her the one thing I'd never had, a name and a person who loved her no matter  
what.

Though it wasn't hard to love Bella, she had a sweetness and compassion that I  
lacked, and her tongue, while clever, was never sharp or cruel. She was, in short, what I  
might have been once, all the promise of my youth fulfilled.

When we'd reached the end of the dessert course, she invited me to go along with  
her for her ride. I declined, saying softly, "No, you go on and have your run in the moonlight  
if you wish, get reacquainted with your horse. I need to replenish some of my healing  
potions, I've been going through them like wildfire with these new troubles down at  
Valhalla." I'd told her of the recent problems we'd had, she knew a bit of them from Ran,  
who kept abreast of politics and gossip, and had a few things to say about slipshod state of  
affairs. Ran had said this simply proved her point that men ought never to rule, for they  
were too prone to follow their own impulses, and look what happened then. She'd said a  
woman would never have behaved in such a fashion, like a foolish boy just out of the  
schoolroom, eager to impress his friends with his wild ways now that his teachers couldn't  
reprimand him. Ran had been ruling her own kingdom when she'd been almost as young  
as Bella, and even back then her court had never been the lawless place Valhalla was now.  
She'd been taught to put the needs of her people and her kingdom first, her desires last, and  
her subjects never had cause to complain of her and indeed they loved her.

"You could do a lot worse than to model yourself after Ran," I told my daughter  
earnestly. "She is all that a good ruler should be."

"I know, sir. She's taught me a great deal, and not just magic either. I'm very fond  
of her."

I knew Ran was fond of Bella as well, she'd said as much to me in her last letter, that  
she regarded her newest apprentice the same way she would have a daughter or a niece.  
"You did a good thing all those years ago, taking her in the way you did, Loki. She is both  
clever and compassionate and one day she shall be one of the powers of this world, and for  
that she owes you, who gave her a home and a family and who raised her with such love and  
care. She shall be a credit to us both, brother mine."

What Ran said was true, but I felt much of Bella's success was due to her own  
determined and honest nature and not merely my guidance, for others, like Thor's children,  
had the same advantages she had and proceeded to throw them all away. It never occurred  
to me that Bella took nothing for granted because I myself didn't, having learned the hard  
way to appreciate what I had today because you never knew what tomorrow might bring.  
There had been so few constants in my life that I never took anything for granted, not even  
my own happiness. Though my daughter, like my magic, was one of the few things that had  
never failed me.

She returned from her ride, flushed and grinning, saying Flicker had been in rare  
form, jumping over the pasture fence like a deer instead of waiting for her to open the gate.  
Flicker was a pretty mare, black like her sire Heror, though she had a white star on her  
forehead, as swift as a comet, and as devoted to her mistress as her sire was to me. Like  
Heror, she possessed a bit of magic and a touch of immortality, and she would serve Bella  
as both mount and companion for centuries.

I laughed at Bella's tale and said that there was nothing more impatient than a horse  
who hadn't seen her mistress in months and wanted a bit of a gallop. Bella agreed, then sat  
cross-legged on the floor by my feet, she was dressed in loose trousers and a tunic like a boy,  
having adopted that mode of dress while she was with Ran's people, who didn't believe that  
girls should only wear skirts and dresses. We had tea and she reminisced about all the  
pranks she'd pulled in her childhood and the times we'd shared.

"Do you remember that enchanted storybook you gave me one year for my birthday?  
The one with the illusionary people that jumped off the pages and re-enacted the story when  
you opened it and read the words? I thought it was the best thing in the world. I think I read  
it several hundred times."

"I seem to remember I caught you reading it during your mathematics lesson several  
times. When you were supposed to be doing your multiplication tables."

"Well, you have to admit the story of Sigfrid and Brunhilda was a lot more  
interesting than multiplication tables," she stated, her jade eyes sparkling impishly. "I loved  
that book. I still have it, packed away in a trunk. I think I'll save it for my children, if I  
should have any someday. You made it yourself, didn't you?"

I nodded. "I wrote and illustrated it. It was all done in special ink and colors,  
infused with a bit of magic so they would never fade or run. The illusion spells came later,  
when the book was finished. I was glad you liked it so much, you always did love fairy tales.  
I would have liked it too when I was your age."

"Did you have one like it when you were a boy?"

I shook my head. "Gods, no. Books were as rare as hugs and kisses when I was  
growing up."

"Poor Father. I forgot, you were raised by ogres who beat you and tried to sell you  
into slavery," she said, and her eyes flashed indignantly. I had told her a little of my  
childhood, not everything, of course, but just enough so she understood where I'd come  
from—which had been nothing. "If I'd been you, I'd have gone back and put a good curse  
on them for what they'd put you through."

"What good would have that done? What happened, happened. You can't change  
the past. I was better off without them, so maybe it was for the best that I left when I did.  
Besides, I probably deserved that thrashing, though I never did the other." I admitted  
candidly.

"What does that matter? I probably deserved a spanking more times than not and you  
never beat me like that."

"Sunshine, you never behaved half as badly as I did. I was a wild rebel from the  
cradle. Mischief was my middle name then, and still is. I followed the rules only when it  
suited me. Much like that rascal, Grim, I'm afraid."

"Oh, surely not!" she objected instantly. "He was horrible brat. Spoiled and  
conceited and a bully besides. I doubt if you were half as bad as he was."

"Not quite, but I was no model of obedience."

"He wasn't a model for anything, unless it was for sheer nastiness. I remember the  
day he called me a little bastard not fit for decent children to play with. I was only  
what—two, I think—but I'll never forget it. The way he said it, as if I was dirt and ought  
to get down on the ground and kiss his feet for the privilege of being allowed to associate  
with one such as him. He wanted Hilda and Vali to stop playing with me, told them they  
needn't sully themselves with gutter trash. I didn't know what half of what he said meant,  
except that it wasn't good and that somehow I was different from the rest of them. He made  
me feel horrible, the miserable snot. But you gave him what he deserved in the end, so I  
guess it turned out all right."

"For you it did. That punishment doesn't seem to have had any lasting effect on him  
that I can see now. He's just as arrogant and cruel and bullying as he ever was. I don't think  
he'll ever change. Some people don't. They're born nasty and they stay that way. He's like  
his father, thinks he's king and the rest of us ought to jump whenever he says." I snorted.  
"But it'll be a cold day in Muspelheim before I bow my head to that little peacock or his  
father, no matter what title he gives himself."

"Me either," Bella said firmly and our eyes met and we smiled at each other.  
"There's more to being a good ruler than a crown and a title."

"Just so, girl. Most young ladies your age wouldn't think so, I'm glad you have more  
sense."

"Well, I ought to. I _am_ a mage, after all."

I laughed and patted her cheek, then we finished our tea and went to bed. Her  
forthright attitude set me at ease, for I had worried she mighty grow flighty and susceptible  
to the charms of wealth and power and a handsome face, the way many girls her age did.  
But her head was not turned by appearances, she saw clearly to the heart of a person, which  
was all to the good for it made it less likely she would be taken in by some witty rogue. I  
went to bed feeling good about having her home again. It seemed that I had done a good job  
raising her after all. As I had told her long ago, after that incident with Grim, she was the  
best thing that ever happened to me.

* * * * * *  
I awoke early the next morning, even before my rooster, Ragnar, had crowed. There  
was a slight foreboding feeling hanging in the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck  
prickle. Not a feeling of danger, exactly, but of something important waiting to happen.  
Now I've never been much of a seer, I don't go running to a Seeing glass or scrying bowl  
every time I feel a bit uneasy. I don't usually worry overmuch about the future, I've learned  
over the years that it can take care of itself, and I prefer to make my own destiny.

Maybe if I had followed up on my odd feeling that day, however, things might have  
worked out differently. Then again, maybe not. Even knowing there was going to be trouble  
might not have prevented what happened. Nothing is ever certain.

Never one to linger in bed, I rose, washed, and dressed in my old faded blue tunic  
and cotton breeches that I wore when I needed to feed and water my stock. No sense in my  
ruining good clothes with straw and horse slobber, I thought sensibly. I came downstairs  
yawning, Ava was awake already, stirring up the embers on the kitchen hearth and putting  
a pot of tea on to boil.

"Huh. You're up early, Master. The little mistress is still asleep. Do you want some  
breakfast now or later? I can whip up some toast and cheese if you're starving, otherwise you  
can wait for oatmeal."

"I'll eat later. My appetite will be better after I've woken up a bit more," I said.  
"Did you put out the butter and cheese for Valhalla on the porch yet? Someone should be  
along to pick it up sometime today."

The Nis nodded. "I surely did. And those cheapskins better leave more than two or  
three silvers this time. D'they think we's running a charity here?"

I bit back a laugh at her tone. Ava was a shrewd bargainer and she didn't hold with  
any nonsense when it came to household affairs. She was the one who made the cheese and  
butter to sell, after all, and I gave her part of the money in return, even though Nisses don't  
care much for money. I don't know what she did with it and I never asked. That was her  
business.

"Ever since Thor's taken to playing regent up there at the hall, they think they can  
shortchange us," I said. "You should have said something to me before, Ava."

The Nis sniffed, her brown hands on her hips. "I is saying something now, Master  
Loki. What d'you plan on doing about it?"

"When the servant boy comes today, call me and I'll have a word with him if he tries  
to leave less than my original agreement with Odin. There shouldn't be any reason they  
can't pay the same as always, Thor couldn't have depleted the treasury already."

"Very well. I'll keep an eye out for him." I was certain she would. Nothing irritates  
a Nis so much as a broken agreement.

Not that we needed the money, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered.  
I provided them with a service, they should pay me what it was worth.

I went out to the barn and began my usual chores. It took me a little longer than  
usual since I now had one extra horse to care for, but Flicker was not as demanding as her  
sire and she was a great deal more appreciative. I teased my stallion, who shook his mane  
and said he had a right to be more demanding since he was older.

I left them munching their oats and hay and moved on to Olga, who was not as  
cranky as she usually was, and only threatened to step on my foot once. "What's this, Old  
Lady?" I asked, my hands working smoothly after so many mornings. "You finally learn  
some manners after all these years?"

She shook her head and turned to nibble at my tunic. "There's nothing wrong with  
my manners, magician."

"Except that you don't have any," Heror whickered.

"Who asked you? I'm a goat, I don't need any." She eyed me speculatively, debating  
on if she could be quick enough to get a mouthful of my sleeve before I noticed and cuffed  
her nose. Like most goats, she loved munching on clothing.

"Don't even think about it," I warned. "You already ruined one shirt this week,  
you four-footed fiend. Next time I'm gonna take it out of your hide."

"You're no fun," she blew and shook her head so that her bell jangled. "Though I  
will say you treat us a damn sight better than them high and mighty pieces up there at the  
mead hall do their animals. Word is they've cut down their herd of sheep and cattle by so  
much feasting that they've taken to eating goats. Imagine!"

"Better watch out then, Olga," Heror nickered. "If you don't behave, Loki might get  
out the axe."

Olga made a rude noise at him. "In your dreams, you cousin to a jackass. I make the  
best cream and butter and the sweetest milk in Asgard. He'd never kill me, right, Loki?" She  
nuzzled me gently, and I gave her a scratch between her horns.

"Gods know, if I haven't killed you by now, you old reprobate, I won't ever. Now  
quit twisting about so much, you're going to knock over the pail."

"Sucks for you then," she said, stamping a hind hoof playfully.

"Olga!" I growled. She settled then, and I began to think Heror was right, she really  
was frightened I might sell her for meat. Which was ridiculous, after so many centuries, she  
should know she was more friend than a food source. "How did you happen to hear that  
little tidbit?"

"A crow stopped here yesterday. You know what gossips they are. Said I ought to  
thank my lucky stars to be here instead there. I said if they've taken to eating goats, where's  
it gonna end? And he says it weren't all the goats, just the old ones past their prime, the  
billies and the nannies whose milk had dried up. Humph! It's a disgrace is what it is! We  
give you the best years of our lives and what do we get in return but to be served up on some  
platter." She swished her tail angrily, hitting me in the face.

"Hey!"

"Sorry. Well, I'll tell you something, Master Trickster. You try to eat me for dinner  
when I'm too old to give milk any more and I'll kick you right over the moon, see if I don't!"

"I'd never eat you, Olga," I soothed, patting her flank. "You'd taste terrible, all bitter  
and stringy." I said slyly, and ducked her tail. "Only kidding. After the quality of milk and  
cheese you've given me, you deserve a nice retirement in a field with all the grass and clover  
and old shirts you can eat."

"I'm holding you to that promise, Loki. Remember that and don't try and wriggle  
out of it later, mind."

I slapped her lightly on the rump. "That day's a long time coming, nanny. So don't  
count your blessings just yet." I picked up the pail of frothy milk. "Thanks. Enjoy your  
breakfast."

"Oh, I will," she said with an amused laugh. I heard a sinister ripping sound.

I jerked my arm away. Too late. A strip of my sleeve now dangled from her mouth.  
"Yum! Got milk, magician?"

I swore furiously for about ten seconds, then left her to her stolen treat and headed  
back to the house.

As I came into sight of the porch, I noticed an odd bundle lying across the steps. My  
brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Ava hadn't said she was doing laundry today. Then I saw it  
wasn't a bundle of dirty clothes, but a young man wearing a threadbare tunic and breeches.

Not again! I groaned in dismay. Why is it that everybody chooses my porch to  
collapse on?

I hurried forward, but before I could examine him to see if he was still breathing, the  
door opened and Ava came out. "Hey, boy! My master wants a word with—acorns and  
holly! The poor thing's fainted."

"Where? Let me see," came Bella's voice. She joined the Nis on the porch, kneeling  
down to feel at the lad's throat. "He's still breathing. But he's warm. I think he's got a  
fever, Father."

I nodded, noticing the flushed cheeks. "Let's get him inside." I bent down and  
gathered him up in my arms. He woke then, whimpering and squirming. "Easy, son.  
You're among friends," I soothed.

"No! Put me down . . .please . . ." he whimpered. "It hurts . . .like fire."

I knew then what was the matter with him, and I shifted my grip, easing him over my  
shoulder.

"What's wrong with him, Father? Immortals don't get sick," Bella stated, following  
me as I carried our unexpected guest down the hall to the nearest guest room. "Get me some  
water, soft cloths, and my comfrey salve, girl." I ordered, laying him down on his stomach.  
She departed without a word, her eyes widening in understanding.

"Lie still," I said softly, when he would have raised his head. "I'm going to try and  
help you as best as I can." I spoke a word of magic, removing his breeches. "Gods damn  
them!" I swore savagely, for he had been beaten from backside to knees, bloody welts that  
stood out in livid contrast to his pale skin. "Looks like they worked you over with a whip,  
the bastards."

"No. A belt, I think. And a stick," he said, breathing hoarsely.

"What's your name, son?"

"Leif Malasteinsson. I'm Vanir, you know," he said awkwardly, turning his head to  
look at me from huge brown eyes. He reminded me of an abused puppy, cringing in a  
corner, too scared to move. He was fine boned and fair-haired, the Vanir were more inclined  
to magic and intellectual pursuits than the more war-like Aesir.

"You're a bondservant," I clarified, for I knew well that no Vanir would ever serve  
in an Aesir hall if he weren't. "A new one, if I had to guess." All the older Vanir slaves at  
Valhalla had learned long ago to stay out of reach of their masters when they were drunk or  
in a temper.

"I just arrived yesterday. I never would have come if I'd known . . ." he trailed off  
as the door opened and Bella returned carrying the items I'd asked for. The boy went scarlet  
and buried his face in the pillow.

I took the tray from her. "Thanks. But I think it'd be best if you let me take care of  
him," I said quickly, when she would have protested. "I know you're gentler than me, but  
he won't appreciate a woman's touch right now. Go on, Bella. Mix me up some tea to make  
him sleep and bring me some fever syrup."

She darted a glance at the patient, and I saw the sympathy flare in her jade eyes when  
she saw the marks on him. Then she nodded and said, "If you need anything else, just send  
for me."

"I will. Now scoot, he'll be needing that tea in a bit."

I set the tray on the nightstand. As well as the items I'd requested, Bella had  
included a spoon and a draft of pain reliever. I poured a measure of the sweet poppy  
flavored syrup out and said, "She's gone, Leif. Now quit hiding and look at me."

He did so, wincing slightly. "I guess it shouldn't matter if she sees . . .they all  
watched when he beat me . . ." tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he stubbornly  
blinked them away.

"Take this," I said, and he opened his mouth. "It'll help with the pain." I dipped a  
cloth in water and wrung it out. "I need to wash those cuts, and it's going to hurt, I'm  
afraid." I warned.

"Go ahead. It already hurts."

He yelped as I began, and I patted him soothingly. "I know. I'm sorry." If I could  
have, I would have used magic and spared him this, but my magic doesn't work too well on  
wounds, and so I had to make do with my hands. I was as gentle as possible, but even so I  
knew the slightest touch stung like hell. To keep his mind off it, I asked, "Who did this to  
you? Before, you said you never would have come if you'd known . . .do you mean to say  
you came here voluntarily?"

"Yes and no. You see, I'm my father's youngest, and we needed the money . . . there  
were improvements that had to be done on the house and the fields, things we couldn't  
afford since King Gundar raised the taxes . . .ow!" he yelled.

"Keep still," I ordered. "Go on. Your family needed money, so they offered you up  
as a sacrificial goat, I take it."

"It wasn't like that. I agreed . . .because it was the quickest way for us to get the  
money. And my father said Odin was an honorable man for an Aesir, that's why he signed  
the papers. He promised to treat me fairly, it said so right in the contract. I'm supposed to  
work for you for fifty years and in return he paid Father enough money to fix up the house  
and all. I was supposed to be a house thrall, like a page, fetching and carrying, that kind of  
thing. But when I got here and told the steward that, I think his name's Snagi, he just  
laughed in my face. "Who do you think you are, boy? A Vanir prince? You'll do as your  
told and like it." I showed him the articles of my indenture, and he said it was just a piece  
of paper, that Thor was in charge now and I'd do whatever needed doing or else." He  
flinched then said angrily, "I was supposed to be _Odin's_ thrall, not Thor's. That was the  
agreement we'd made."

_Your father ought to have made sure he read the fine print before he signed, the idiot_,  
I thought angrily, but I didn't say this aloud. The boy was suffering enough, he didn't need  
criticism of his father added to his burden. "If you've been bonded to Valhalla, you serve  
the current master of the hall, not any one person. That's how it's always been."

"But . . .that's not fair!"

"Fair or not, it's what's done," I said, continuing my ministrations. "Odin's away  
right now, so Thor's in charge. He's your master now, unfortunately for you. And he bears  
no love for the Vanir, nor for anyone save himself. So, what did you do to earn these?"

"Nothing!" he cried indignantly. "I made a mistake, that's all. Last night, one of the  
older servants, Wulf, he told me to bring round the mead pitcher to the warriors. So I did.  
I didn't know that some of them were to be served first. I filled the first man's cup that was  
near me. They were all dressed alike, I didn't know he was lower in rank than the man next  
to him. Next thing I know, this big fellow—Grim they called him—knocks the pitcher all  
over the table and grabs me by the ear. "You stupid oaf! Can't you tell the difference  
between royalty and a mere jarl? I get served first, not Harald." So I say I'm sorry, my lord,  
but I'm new here and didn't know . . .let me get you another cup. And he sneers at me and  
says, "You're that new Vanir brat, aren't you? The one with all the airs and graces. Well,  
we don't like your sort round here, boy. Looking down your pretty Vanir nose at us and  
thinking you're better than us, like you do." I said I never thought that, that I was only a  
servant now, just like the others here. But he wouldn't listen, he said I was insolent and I  
needed a good lesson in manners. Then he picked up the rune stick he'd been gambling with  
and he thrashed me . . .and the others they laughed and said it served the little Vanir bastard  
right . . ." he sniffled sharply and I could tell he was close to tears. "We would have never  
treated our servants at home so . . ."

"Not even an Aesir slave?"

"No. The only time my father ever ordered a servant beaten was if they deliberately  
shirked work or stole or something like that. Not for a mistake!"

"I see," I wasn't sure if that were true, but I didn't contradict him. "But you say that  
happened last night. Some of these welts are fresh, I'd say no more than an hour or so old.  
You were beaten twice, weren't you?"

He nodded miserably. "Wulf said since I served last night I wouldn't have to serve  
in the morning, but the steward kicked me awake and said go bring breakfast out to Lord  
Thor, and be quick about it, he don't like to be kept waiting. So I took the tray and figured  
nothing could be as bad as last night. At least I couldn't mistake Lord Thor for anyone else  
there." He sucked in a breath as I touched a particularly sensitive spot. "Hells, aren't you  
done yet?"

"Almost. I'm trying not to hurt you, that's why this is taking so long. Go on. You  
were bringing Thor his breakfast and I take it he was in a mood or something . . . hung over  
most likely, the dumb ass . . .and he took exception to your face or something, right?"

"Uh, actually it was 'cause I spilled the tray all over the floor. Not on purpose, but  
the hall was a mess, bones and junk everywhere and two dogs started fighting over a bone.  
They got between my feet and I tripped . . .I knew I was dead and I wanted to die right there  
. . .Thor swung round and hit me so hard with his fist I saw stars. Next thing I knew he  
hauled me over the table and . . .well, you can see for yourself how hard he hit me. Then he  
told me to get out, go and fetch the butter and the cheese down at the magician Loki's house,  
before he killed me. I could just about walk, after . . .it took me ages to get here, and then  
I just couldn't think any more . . .I hurt so much and I was so tired . . .please, sir, don't send  
me back there. Please . . .!"

"Hush. You aren't going anywhere for a while, boy." I said, stroking his hair. I'd  
done with the water, now I moved on to the comfrey salve, which would numb and soothe  
the cuts. He gasped in relief as I applied it.

"That feels good . . .I wish I'd never come here . . .they should have called me Leif  
the Unlucky, I've had nothing but bad luck since I got here . . .How am I going to be able to  
get through fifty years of this? I wish I was home . . ."

All at once he began to cry, hoarse racking sobs of misery and homesickness that  
shook his slender frame. I said nothing, simply let him cry. He needed it, the tears would  
cleanse his spirit just as the water had cleansed his body. Poor kid! I abhorred the practice  
of slavery, especially when it was done to children like him, for he was no older than Bella.  
How could his father have been so stupid to allow his son to go into service here? I'd have  
sold myself first before I would have let my daughter become a slave. No, I'd have turned  
beggar and thief before that, because even breaking the law was preferable to being a slave  
anywhere. Indeed, that was what I'd done when I was his age, until my shapeshifting powers  
emerged and I no longer needed to steal to survive. I had continued the practice though,  
simply because I was a clever scamp who enjoyed the thrill of the forbidden. Bella came  
in and dropped off the tea then left without a word.

Eventually he cried himself out and I felt his forehead. It was too warm, he had a  
slight fever, probably due to an infection or stress. "Leif," I said quietly, and he raised his  
head, his eyes wet and filled with shame.

"You must think me a dreadful coward, the way I've been acting," he began.

"Coward? Son, if I'd been beaten as badly as you, I'd be bawling my eyes out too.  
It's no joke, what they did to you. They flogged you like a criminal. If you were a mortal,  
you'd be a week recovering from it. Luckily, you're not, and with my salve you should heal  
up in about three to four days."

"I will?"

"Uh huh." I handed him a cloth to wipe his eyes. "Now, sit up a bit. This is a fever  
syrup, it'll take care of that fever you've got." I gave him two spoonfuls of the medicine.  
Then I stirred up the tea and fed him that too, saying it would help him sleep.

I didn't use a sleep charm on him because as a Vanir he was resistant to that kind of  
magic. But the tea worked just as well, knocking him right out. I left him dreaming,  
covering him with a light sheet out of modesty.

Bella was waiting right outside the door, practically with her ear pressed to the  
keyhole. "How is he? I heard him crying before."

"Sleeping. He needs that more than anything." I beckoned her down the hall to the  
kitchen. There I told her everything young Leif had told me.

She was as furious as I was. "How dare they! Those wicked, cruel, unfeeling, sons  
of bitches!" she growled, all of her protective instincts roused to a fever pitch. Several cups  
and plates in the cupboard rattled loudly as her magic reacted to her temper, stirring the air  
about her with a mild wind.

"Lower your voice," I reprimanded quietly. "You don't want to wake him. And get  
control of your aura, it's not good to let it escape like that, he's vulnerable to disturbing  
influences after what he's been through. It could affect his recovery."

"Right. Sorry," she took a deep breath, let it out, and I felt the anger she'd been  
projecting retreat back behind her shields. Unchecked emotions were dangerous to those  
with magic, and our young patient had more than a smidgen of Talent in him. "You can't  
let him go back there. If they could do that to him over some spilled food and a mistaken  
identity . . .there's no telling what they'd do to him next time."

"There isn't going to be a next time." I said heatedly. "I'm going to pay a visit to  
Valhalla right now and see if I can get Thor to sell his bond to me. It shouldn't take much  
to persuade him, he's not worth much in his condition."

"You'd keep him here as a _slave_?" she repeated in astonishment. "But you hate  
slavery."

"Not as a slave," I corrected. "I'll rewrite his contract and make him my apprentice.  
He's got Talent, I could sense it when I tended him. If he agrees, he can stay here and work  
off his debt with me. But first, I need to have a little talk with Regent Thor." I rose, dusting  
off my hands on my breeches. "Keep an eye on him for me, will you, Bella? I should be  
back long before he wakes, but just in case I'm not . . ."

"Don't worry, Father. I'll make sure he's comfortable." She gave me a kiss on the  
cheek. "Good luck. And try not to turn Thor into a toad, okay?"  
"I'll try." I laughed, then grabbed a slice of bread with butter and an apple before  
going to saddle Heror.

**Okay, it's finally been updated! Sorry for the long wait and thanks to whoever is reading!**


	9. The Apprentice

**The Apprentice**

﻿I considered going in wolf shape, but in my current mood I'd be tempted to bite one  
of the idiots if I happened to see them, especially that whelp Grim. Then too, Heror needed  
the exercise, and I needed time to let my temper cool.

Heror welcomed the chance to stretch his legs and we made good time to the mead  
hall. It was still quite early in the morning, no one was awake except the servants, who were  
sweeping and mopping up the hall. I wrinkled my nose at the odor of spilled beer, grease,  
dog, and vomit. Jorgmunder's scales, but the place needed a good scrubbing and airing out.

It smelled fouler than an outhouse. I thanked the stars I didn't have to live here. Odin was  
going to have a fit when he saw what had been going on in his absence, I thought with a  
wicked gleam in my eye. I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he got back and told off Thor  
for wrecking his palace like this.

The servants gave me curious looks when I entered the hall, but none of them asked  
my business. Living with Thor they probably figured they were safer if they minded their  
own business. I couldn't help but notice that the servants were all men and boys now, no  
women remained. I assumed they'd all gone with Frigga to her palace in the country. The  
only women here now were the prostitutes and mistresses of the warriors. And they, of  
course, were not up and about, but still abed. Like the rest of the lazy slobs.

I scanned the hall, looking for Thor's distinctive brass hair and beard. From what  
Leif had said, he'd been here not too long ago, eating breakfast. I beckoned a passing boy  
carrying a pail of ashes, he approached me hesitantly. "Do you know where I can find the  
Regent?"

"I think he went back to bed, sir. Something with breakfast didn't, uh, agree with  
him. Least that's what I heard."

"Oh. Thanks."

He bowed and scurried off. Something didn't agree with him indeed, I thought,  
struggling to keep from laughing. In other words, he'd been too pissed off or too hung over  
to eat and had decided to go back to bed and sleep it off. I probably should have waited till  
noon, he'd have been awake then.

But I chose not to because he'd be easier to convince if he were sleepy and befuddled  
from drink. Not that I couldn't talk rings around him in any case, but I didn't feel up to a  
prolonged debate. I figured he would have taken over Odin's suite of rooms, since they were  
the biggest and grandest.

Sure enough, there were two guards on duty before the ornate gold double doors as  
well as a skinny man with a wispy beard and shifty eyes wearing the royal livery. That was  
Rhinegold, Thor's personal secretary, a sneaky fellow that had always reminded me of a  
ferret. Rhinegold was wearing a rich purple tunic bordered with gold and crimson breeches  
and fine new boots. He also had on a thick gold chain with a huge ruby and an earring to  
match. His belt was studded with garnets.

Must be dipping into the treasury, he could never afford such finery on his secretary's  
pay. "Nice outfit, Rhinegold. Thor must have raised your salary," I greeted the oily little  
man. "Do me a favor and announce me to the Regent."

Rhinegold gave me a supercilious glance, noting my worn clothing, as I'd not taken  
time to change before coming here. "The Regent's resting, Loki. He's given me orders that  
he's not to be disturbed. Come back later, otherwise you can make an appointment."

His officious tone and hidden contempt grated on my already simmering nerves.  
"Didn't you hear what I said, Rhinegold?" I asked, my voice soft but hinting at danger  
lurking just below the surface. "I need to speak to the Regent now. Not later, not tomorrow,  
now."

Rhinegold glared at me. "Maybe you didn't understand me, Loki. Regent Thor is  
indisposed and—"

"That's sir or Master Magician to the likes of you, Rhinegold," I said icily, baring  
my teeth in a warning grin. "You forget whom you're speaking to, secretary. I don't have  
time to stand here arguing with a witless peacock cheeping meaningless platitudes. Now  
either you go and announce me or I'm going in there myself and I don't care if Thor's  
asleep, puking, or entertaining a woman. Got me? Well, what's it going to be?"

Rhinegold looked as if he were strangling. "You'd not dare . . .!"

"Watch me." I stepped around his writing table and started towards the doors.

"Guards!" Rhinegold cried. "Don't let him in there."

The guards shifted uneasily, trying to determine if they should obey the little weasel.

"Oh, by all means, boys, try and prevent me," I drawled. "The hall could use a few  
more stone statues or lizards running about." I twitched my fingers, and sparks danced from  
them to fall on the floor.

"He's bluffing!" Rhinegold sneered. "He'd never dare to turn you into anything.  
He's all talk and no action."

"Oh, really?" I hissed, then I spun about and leveled a finger at the secretary. "You  
have two seconds to admit me Rhinegold, after that you're going to be a mouse and I'm  
going to blow the damn door off its hinges. Decide!" I roared, my eyes blazing. "One!"

"You don't frighten me," the idiot laughed. "You'd never . . ." the rest of his  
sentence was cut off as I snarled a word and a tiny white mouse appeared on the floor behind  
the writing desk.

"Think again." I turned to the guards. "Do you need a demonstration too?"

"No, sir!" they chorused, staring with horror and fear at Rhinegold the mouse.

"Good. Open the door."

One of them pushed open the door and I went on inside the suite.

"What an ass," I heard one of the guards say as they shut the door. "Don't he know  
better than to mess with a wizard thataway?"

"Now he do," chuckled his friend.

I wrinkled my nose as the acrid stench of sweat and dirty laundry hit me. The place  
smelled like a midden. Dirty clothes were all over the place, on the floor, the chairs, even  
the couch. The remains of lunch of whatever was still sitting on the table, half-eaten and  
rancid. Flies buzzed around the dregs of ale in a tankard.

The carpet in the sitting room was stained with beer and gravy or mud, I couldn't  
decide which. But there was a roaring fire in the hearth and the oil lamps were lit. A big  
wolf hound was lying in front of the fire, gnawing on a bone. It glanced up, growled half-  
heartedly at me, then whimpered when I glared it down. Cringing, it retreated to a corner  
with its bone.

"Smart puppy," I said, then continued onward to the bedroom door.

I tried the knob, to my surprise it wasn't locked and opened easily.

I gave the door a shove, and peered inside the room. It was dimly lit by another fire  
and a sputtering lamp. Heavy velvet drapes were covering the windows and in the king-  
sized bed Thor slumbered like some great beast, snoring fit to wake the dead.

I stalked soft-footed over to the bed and yanked off the covers.

Thor remained oblivious, still shrouded in wine-soaked dreams. There was a squeal,  
and a woman's head popped up from the other side of the bed.

"Hey! What's the big idea?"

She had dyed her hair a shade of gold that belonged on a coin, not a person, and she  
was buxom and well-rounded, as well as stark naked.

"Get out. Your services aren't needed any longer." I ordered.

"Who the hell are you to give me orders?" she blustered, grabbing up what looked  
like a scrap of cloth and tugging it over her head. It was actually a dress, but one so low cut  
it was like wearing almost nothing.

"The name's Loki, madam. Master Magician of Asgard. Surely you've heard of  
me?" I growled, giving her a look that could have roasted her.

"Oh!" she gasped. "All right. I'll go."

She scrambled out of the bed and grabbed her shoes then was out the door before I  
could blink.

"Won't Sif be delighted to learn what you've been up to, eh, Thor?" I muttered, then  
walked over to the curtains and gave them a good yank. Sunlight spilled into the room,  
making the wine colored bedspread shimmer as if it had caught fire. I could almost wish it  
had.

An empty wine jug and two cups were on the floor. Next to them was Mjolnir,  
Thor's magical hammer. Thor stirred, groaning.

"Rise and shine, Thor!" I yelled. "You're burning daylight." Then I let out a crow  
like a rooster.

The Thunder God shot up from the bed, eyes wild. "What the bloody hell is that?"  
he bellowed.

"Good morning, Thor." I said pleasantly.

"Loki! I should have known." Thor spat. Then he glanced about. "Where's . . .?"

"She left. Had another client waiting," I informed him.

"Oh." Then he coughed, looking uneasy. "What do you want? I thought I gave  
Rhinegold orders that I wasn't to be disturbed."

"I didn't feel like waiting. I need to discuss a contract with you."

"Now? Blood and ashes, magician!" he groaned and rubbed his temples. "Oh, my  
head!"

"Headache?" I inquired silkily. "You poor thing. I could mix you up a potion . . .  
if you agreed to do something for me, that is?"

"What?" Thor asked blearily, squinting at the sunlight.

"I want to buy a thrall from you. He's a young one, not properly broken in yet. He's  
a Vanir, name's Leif."

"Vanir? We don't have any new Vanir servants . . ." he yawned, his brow beetling  
as he attempted to recall something other than the names of various kinds of ale. Then I saw  
a glimmer of recognition come into his pig like eyes. "Oh, you mean that clumsy little ass  
who spilled my breakfast this morning? Good for nothing little prick! I taught him a good  
lesson, I did!" he chortled.

"I know. I saw the results of your 'lesson' this morning." I said coldly. "Now how  
much do you want for him?"

"Why would you want him anyhow? The only way you'll get any work from him is  
to take a strap to him. All those Vanir are lazy, think they're too good to serve us Aesir."

"What do you care?" I countered. "From what you said, you'd be well rid of him."

"Probably. My father purchased his bond, not me, and he never did know how to  
pick out thralls. He's too soft on 'em. Lets them put on airs, thinking that they counted for  
something besides an extra pair of hands or a back."

"You've got plenty of servants. You'll never miss this one." I persuaded, longing  
to beat the spit out of the smug bastard. Maybe if you treated them decently, they'd be more  
inclined to work well, I wanted to scream, but I knew if I let on how much I wanted Leif,  
he'd never sell him to me.

"True. He's scrawny, a prissy Vanir fop."

"Yes. But he's strong enough for what I need him for."

Thor winced as a shaft of sunlight struck him right in the face. "Close the damn  
drapes! My head feels like an anvil as it is."

I slid the drapes partially closed. "Better? Good. Why don't we make a trade? I'll  
give you a gallon of my headache potion for his bond. I'm sure you could use it after last  
night. And if you, uh, get sick again, why then you'll have it right here and won't have to  
send anyone to me to get more. That's worth more to you than a skinny uppity Vanir boy,  
right?"

"Umm . . .I don't know." Thor frowned.

"I'll throw in a silver piece too. And I won't tell Sif about the woman you were  
entertaining in your bed last night," I added, playing my trump card.

"It's a deal!" Thor agreed, hastily, his eyes widening in alarm at the mere thought of  
his volatile sword-wielding wife finding out he'd been sleeping around.

"Sign here," I produced Leif's indenture, which I'd filched from his breeches pocket.  
I hastily wrote a codicil that said that Thor was selling his bond to me for a promise and a  
silver piece and a gallon of my famous headache potion. Then I signed it and gave the pen  
to him.

He scribbled his name then said, "Now can I have that potion, Loki? Please?"

I snapped my fingers and a huge earthenware jug appeared on the table. "Take two  
spoonfuls and mix it in tea. And drink it right away." I laid a silver piece on the table.

"Was that all you wanted?"

"Yes. Goodbye."

I started toward the door.

"Rhinegold! I need some tea!" came Thor's shout. Then I heard him moan and begin  
to retch as his stomach protested his screaming in its current state.

I closed the door hurriedly and bit back a grin. Serves him right. That had been  
easier than I'd thought.

I slipped out the double doors.

Rhinegold was still sitting in front of the writing desk. He raced over to me and sat  
up, imploring me with his beady eyes.

"You going to behave yourself from now on?" I asked sternly.

The mouse nodded, nose twitching.

"Rhinegold!"

"Sounds like he's in a nasty mood," I said conversationally.

Rhinegold put his little pink paws together, as if begging.

I sighed. Then I whispered, "Revesario!"

There was a flash then Rhinegold stood before me. "Better get in there, Your  
Mouseness. He wants tea." I informed the trembling secretary. "Oh, and you might want  
to send for a mop and a bucket . . ."

Rhinegold bowed. "Yes, Master! Whatever you say, sir." He scurried inside the  
doors, the guards snickering behind his back.

I found Heror awaiting me in the courtyard. "Well?" he asked. "How did it go?"

"I've got myself a new apprentice," I answered, grinning. "Come on, let's get home.  
This place is making me nauseous."

Heror whickered agreement, then tossed his head and broke into a gallop, running  
like the wind all the way back to the valley. I clung to his back, laughing in delight. I've  
always loved riding a fast horse.

When I arrived home, I found that Bella had tea and porridge and sausage waiting.  
Leif was still asleep, as I had known he would be.

"Well? What did Thor say?" Bella asked.

I told her and we had a good laugh over how easily I had tricked him into trading Leif  
for a pittance of what Odin had originally paid for his services.

"I'm so glad you got him away from there, Father. They had no right to torment him  
so. I don't think he'd have lasted a week there. If they didn't beat him to death he might  
have drowned himself or something."

I agreed with her assessment. There was something innocent and unworldly about  
the young man. He'd been the sheltered younger son of a Vanir lord, from what he'd said,  
unused to poverty and physical abuse. Bella was right. A week up at the mead hall being  
the butt of their cruel pranks and whims would have finished him. He wasn't cut out to  
endure hardship, they'd have broken him eventually.  
My daughter laughed even harder when I told her how I'd changed the supercilious  
Rhinegold into a mouse. "And Thor had the nerve to say that Leif was insolent. That's the  
pot calling the kettle black, since Rhinegold's ten times as insolent."

"Only to me, I think, since I'm not really an Aesir lord. They tolerate me because  
of my blood oath, but I've never truly belonged there."

"Who'd want to? Not me! I'm glad you're not truly one of them, Father. The only  
decent ones in the lot are Uncle Odin and Baldur. The rest of them are nothing but bullies  
and spoiled little boys who need a good thrashing."

"Even if one of them was your father, child?" I found myself blurting, to my  
everlasting astonishment. That question had weighed heavily on my mind, ever since Grim  
had revealed to her that she was not my daughter by blood. I had often wondered if she  
thought about her absent parents, but had never dared to ask. Until now, that is.

"That doesn't matter," she sniffed dismissively. "Just because he sired me doesn't  
mean we're kin. You're my real father, and always will be."

"Was that why you never asked me about your parents?"

She nodded. "Once I asked Nanna about where I came from and she told me the  
story, how you found me on the porch in a basket. She said I was lucky, because nobody  
could have loved me or cared for me like you did. Especially not my real parents. At first  
I was sad, but then I thought it over and realized she was right. I didn't need them, whoever  
they were. I had you and you were all I needed. I'm proud to be your daughter, Father."  
Then she reached out and hugged me.

I hugged her back, unable to speak for a moment. At last I said, "I love you, Bella,"  
and left it at that. She would know without my telling her how much her words meant to  
me, she was an intuitive child. At least I need never fear her leaving me to go and search  
for her elusive parents. She had made her choice long ago and she had chosen me. I was  
profoundly humbled and touched.

"Well." I said briskly, before I let my emotions run away with me. "It would seem  
I've got a new apprentice, provided he agrees to stay here and let me teach him."

"Then he does have Talent? I thought so, but he was so badly hurt I wasn't sure.  
What kind of mage is he, can you tell?"

"Quite a strong one. I'm surprised he wasn't apprenticed before now, though  
perhaps they couldn't afford to pay the fees. Most mage teachers charge quite a lot of  
money for their services, especially in Vanaheim, where mages are a penny a dozen. I think  
he may have an affinity for fire and maybe a bit of air or earth, I'll know more when he  
wakes up and I can study his aura closely, when it's not clouded with sleep drugs and pain.  
Who knows? You might even have a rival, my dear."  
"I look forward to it," she laughed, for Bella has always loved a challenge.  
Now all that remained was for me to inform the young man of his new and improved  
circumstances.

I visited Leif soon after nightfall, knowing the sleeping draught I'd given him would  
be wearing off by then. So would the numbing comfrey salve. He was stirring as I entered  
the room, blinking sleepily at me from large walnut-colored eyes.

"Hello, Leif," I greeted, lighting the lamps with a twitch of my fingers. That small  
bit of fire magic came as easy to me as breathing. "Feeling better after your nap?"

"I . . .yes, thank you." He rubbed his eyes, then winced. "Though I'm still a bit stiff  
and sore."

"That's to be expected. You won't be able to heal from the damage done to you in  
an afternoon, even with your immortal blood. Are you hungry? I think you should eat a little  
something. Bread, maybe some of my Nis Ava's lamb stew." I suggested.

"You have a Nis?" his eyes crinkled. "We had one at home too. Didn't think you  
Aesir had non-human servants."

"Those at Valhalla don't because they don't know how to treat one. I, on the other  
hand, respect and like Ava and she does the same for me. She has been my companion for  
many years, several centuries in fact. Shall I tell her to bring you up a plate of stew and  
some bread? She makes the best bread in Asgard. In my opinion, that is."

"Yes, I'd like that." he smiled shyly at me, and I quickly left the room to summon  
Ava to me and tell her our guest wanted some food.

"Of course, Master Loki. I'll be up with it directly. Though I'd say he'll be more  
than a guest before long."

"Hush, you interfering old gossip," I scolded her gently. "I haven't yet told him he's  
to be my apprentice. If he agrees," I added quickly, for I would have no student here unless  
it was of his own free will.

"D'you really think he won't?" Ava asked. "What's he got to go back to up there at  
the hall but more beatings and such? He'd be a fool if he turned you down, and I don't think  
he's that. Young, but not stupid." Then she was gone in a twinkling of golden motes. Like  
most fae creatures, she could appear and disappear at will.

I returned to my would-be apprentice. He was lying on his side, he'd probably gotten  
out of bed to relieve himself and was now trying out different positions, though I could tell  
he was in some discomfort from this one.

"Your dinner will be up shortly," I announced, then went to get the small pot of salve  
I had left on the nightstand. "You'll need more of this, I'd wager." I motioned for him to  
lie on his stomach and he obeyed, flushing slightly.

"Can't you just use magic to heal me?" he grumbled as I began to apply the salve.  
"You're supposed to be this great magician."

"Even great magicians have limits, boy," I said, amused. "My magic doesn't run to  
healing much more than bruises and small cuts. But there are other ways to heal. I prefer  
to use herbal remedies infused with a bit of magic for potency, similar to what the mortal  
doctors in Midgard use. They work quite well. This salve is one of them."

"You've been down to Midgard then?" he asked, and I could hear the curiosity and  
wonder in his voice.

"Many times. I even lived there for a brief time, back during what the mortals call  
the Roman Empire. But that was before my daughter came along, of course. I haven't been  
down to Midgard in quite awhile."

"She's very beautiful, your daughter," Leif said softly. "And kind too."

"Yes, she is. I'll introduce you to her in a bit, once you're up to receiving visitors,  
that is." I joked lightly, gesturing at his half-clothed state.

He managed a half-grin at that, then hissed in protest.

"Sorry. Still tender in some spots, I see." I murmured. "You'll notice more  
improvement by tomorrow morning. These look better already."

"Thank the Fates. I hate being stuck in bed."  
I patted his shoulder. "Cheer up, young one. It's only for a few days at the most.  
Think of it like a vacation, if it makes you feel any better." I replaced the sheet, covering his  
backside and legs. Then I felt his forehead. "Good. Your fever's gone. Means your body's  
fought off the infection."

He propped his chin up on his hands. "Forgive me, sir. I don't mean to sound  
ungrateful. I appreciate you helping me like this, you could have just left me outside or told  
me to go back to the hall. In fact, from what I'd heard, I thought you'd . . ." he trailed off  
awkwardly, and his face got even redder.

"You thought I'd make sport of you and send you on your way, is that it?" I finished.  
"I'm not surprised. My reputation in certain quarters is not a sterling one."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you, sir. I ought to know better than to listen to  
rumors. But all the stories say you're nothing but a mischievous prankster who enjoys  
playing tricks on the unwary."

"And they'd be right, for I do like pranks, but I only play them on those who truly  
deserve it. Like those arrogant boors up at the hall, who need taking down a peg or two. In  
fact, I played quite a good one on Thor just now, when I stole you right from under his  
nose."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're no longer bound to service in Valhalla. Now, if you agree, you  
can serve me, as my new apprentice. You've got quite a bit of Talent there, young man, and  
it wants training. Well? What do you say, Leif?"

He was gaping at me like a landed fish. "You . . .really mean that? I'm no longer a  
slave to them? I won't ever have to go back there again?"

"Yes to all those questions." I answered, then I told him how I'd won Thor's  
agreement. He took great pleasure in hearing how hung over his tormentor had been and he  
agreed to stay with me as my student.

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you, Master Loki."

"Repay me by being a good student, Leif. That will mean more to me than gold."

He shook his head slowly, as if he could not quite believe his good fortune. "I almost  
think I'm dreaming. But it's all real, I know that. Nothing here is what I believed it to be.  
I thought Odin was an honorable man and you were a rogue, and instead I find everything  
backwards."

"My brother is an honorable man," I put in. "Only he has the annoying habit of  
assuming everyone is as honorable as he is, especially certain members of his family, like  
his eldest son. I told him long ago that Thor had no more concept of honor than a prancing  
camel, and he said he'd learn better when he was older. But he's older now and he's still  
the same as he was when he was a mere century old. Worse even, now that he's got the  
notion in his head that he's better than the rest of us simply because he's Odin's son."

"Well, isn't he? I mean, he is a prince of Asgard, right? That's royalty."

"When all's said and done, he's no better than any other Aesir. Prince is just a fancy  
word for a ruler's son, it doesn't mean that he's noble, kind, or virtuous at all. Shoving a  
crown on his head and giving him a title doesn't make a bit of difference to his character.  
Which is why you'll note I don't give him any title of respect, for he hasn't earned any. For  
me, actions count for more than blood, and the only things he's ever done well are drink, eat,  
and beat his servants. Wouldn't you agree, Leif Malasteinsson?"

"Oh, yes. He does all those things damn well. He's the Prince of Petty Pleasures  
and Punishments. And he's got the temperament of a dragon with a spear stuck in his tail."

"Not really worthy of anyone's admiration or deference then?"

"No. I don't think there's any Aesir lord that I'd respect up there. If you could have  
seen how they laughed when that Grim beat me . . . I wanted to die. That hurt as bad as the  
beating. I hated Grim then, but I think I hated the rest of them more, because they could  
have helped me a little and they didn't."

"You were the evening's entertainment to them, son." I said bitterly. "Thor and his  
friends take great delight in tormenting anyone weaker than they are. When Odin was here,  
he could keep them in line, but now that he's gone . . ." I spread my hands. "Things are as  
you saw. That's why I don't live up there, even though my kinship with the ruler of Asgard  
entitles me to a room at the palace. I couldn't endure endless nights of that bunch of vicious  
jackals, so I left and came here."

"Lucky for me." Leif said fervently.

Ava came in with Leif's supper and I sat with him while he ate, pleased to see he had  
a decent appetite. When he'd finished, I transported the dirty dishes away to the washtub.  
Then I introduced him to Bella.

He was shy and awkward at first, as can only been expected when a pretty girl has  
seen you beaten to within an inch of your life. But Bella soon put him at ease. She has an  
air about her—wry and gentle and compassionate—that makes everyone, even embarrassed  
sixteen-year-old boys, feel comfortable around her. She took what could have been a  
horribly awkward moment and turned it from a tragedy into a comedy with an amusing joke  
or two.

"You'll have an interesting scar or two to brag about to your wife after your wedding,  
Leif," she said, giving him a look that said she would not have minded a husband with such  
scars at all.

To my surprise, he actually laughed. "That's assuming I'm ever married. Which  
won't be until I've gone home, though I'm sure my father has an eligible girl or two picked  
out for me already."

"Picked out for you?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me the  
Vanir still have arranged marriages? I thought that antiquated custom went out of style  
centuries ago."

"Not in my family. It's tradition. Both my brothers and my sister had matches  
arranged for them by my father and mother. My father believes quite firmly that children  
don't have the sense the Norns gave a goose when it comes to picking out suitable partners."

"And what does he consider suitable?" Bella inquired, her jade eyes sparkling.

"Oh, you know. A lady of impeccable lineage, accomplished in all the social graces,  
educated, pretty, preferably with a large fortune to inherit, since our finances are in such  
miserable shape." Leif shrugged. "I've always known what waited for me once I was an  
adult."

"But what if you did not like that kind of woman?" Bella frowned. "She sounds like  
a paragon and not a real person at all."

"I don't have a choice. My father would find someone as close to that ideal as  
possible and that would be it."

"What if you hated each other? I think that's a barbaric custom."

"It's how it's done in noble families. Marriages are for alliance not for the heart."

"Humph. Then it's no wonder why half of you nobles are so miserable. It's a recipe  
for disaster. A true marriage should be based on compatibility and affection not what you  
were born and how much money you have. I'd never marry a man just because I was told  
to." She eyed me over the rim of her tea mug.

"I know better than to even try," I chuckled, and Leif darted me a shocked glance.  
I laughed even harder. "You'll find, young Vanir, that ours is a most unconventional  
household. Neither I nor my daughter like to be told what to do. Especially not when it  
comes to marriage. I've raised her to make up her own mind and she does it quite well. I'm  
sure she'll apply that same good sense when she chooses a husband. Or not, as it's not  
necessary for a girl to be married here in order to have status in Aesir lands."

"You mean a woman has no status in your land unless she marries?" Bella shook her  
head.

"Well, no. She has the status of her father as a girl, but in order to improve that she  
must marry a man with a higher status and then she assumes the status of her husband," Leif  
explained.

Bella rolled her eyes. "How about her own damn status? As a person, in her own  
right. Women do have minds of their own. Sometimes more than men, if you want the  
truth."  
"True, but it's always been assumed that women are, ah, more ruled by emotions  
than men, so—"

"Oh, Norns preserve us! Not that old line again. Do you really believe that, Leif?  
Take a look at your own situation now. Two overly emotional men beat you half to death,  
and no woman would have done the same in the same situation. I assure you, such would  
never have happened if my aunt Frigga or any of her ladies were in the hall. I'd say men are  
more slaves to their passions than women, given the so-called nobles up at Valhalla."

"Maybe in your country, but in Vanaheim it's different," Leif insisted stubbornly.

"Are you telling me that Vanir men don't get drunk, don't have tempers, don't beat  
their servants?"

"Well, it has happened before, but it's not the sort of thing that's considered proper  
behavior."

"It isn't considered proper here either," she retorted. "But that doesn't mean it  
doesn't happen. And I'm sure that the women in Vanaheim are just as capable of running  
their estates and making their own decisions as a man, if someone would only let them try."

Leif's mouth twitched into a smile. "All right, you win! Sun and Moon, but I'm glad  
you never met my father. You'd be at each other's throats."

"I'm glad I wasn't born a Vanir lady," Bella returned. "Because I think I would have  
died of boredom."

"Either that or slain half of them with your saucy tongue," my new apprentice  
grinned.

"Serves them right. Why, does it bother you that I speak my mind?"

"No. I find it most. . . refreshing."

"Refreshing?" A slight smile quirked up at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I guess  
that's better than being an insolent twit, which is what Grim called me one day."

"When was this?" I asked, for she'd not been up to Valhalla at all since she'd  
returned from Ran's palace this year.

"Oh, some time last summer. I'd gone to visit Sigyn and we met in the corridor.  
He's never one to let an opportunity pass for an insult, but I gave him one in return that  
pinned his ears back good." She smiled reminiscently. "I told him that while I might be an  
insolent twit, that was better than being a boil on the backside of your family."

I burst out laughing at her sheer audacity.

Leif, however, was more shocked than amused. "You really said that to him?  
Weren't you afraid he might, uh, do something to you?" he finished lamely.

"Like what? Even here, it's considered cowardly for a man to hit a woman, especially  
a freeborn one." Bella scoffed. "He'd not dare do anything to me. A long time ago he  
tormented me and Father gave him a lesson he's never forgotten. Not that I need that sort  
of protection now. I know a spell or two that would knock him right on his aristocratic  
behind if he dared use anything more than words against me. Grim might strut and act  
tough, but magic scares him stiff. Ask anyone. He lives in mortal terror of my father, I  
think."

"Oh, not mortal terror," I disagreed. "Say rather a healthy respect for what I can do  
or will tolerate from arrogant rude little brats like him. He knows better than to cross me  
or anyone I've placed under my protection."

"Does that include your apprentice, sir?" Leif asked.

"It does. So you needn't fear any more bullying from that witless troll son if you  
happen to return to Valhalla on an errand for me in the future. Everyone in Asgard knows  
that anyone who harms my apprentice will deal with me. And while I don't usually use  
magic to kill, I can make your life very unpleasant with it, as Grim learned."

"Did he ever! Learned at the end of a switch," my daughter laughed, and proceeded  
to tell Leif all about that incident in her childhood.

I was enjoying the lively repartee between the two. The Vanir snobbishness and  
concern with class status had been what had caused me so much misery as a child and I still  
found the notion that one was considered "superior" to another by virtue of birth and a name  
utterly asinine. It had annoyed me past bearing then and it still did. Not that Leif was a  
rabid defender of the so-called superiority of his class, but he still harbored the prejudices  
of his upbringing regarding women and commoners, and it was a joy to watch my daughter  
neatly puncture Leif's bubble of stuffy Vanir logic with the sword of her tongue. Better  
watch out, boy, because she'll have you running in circles and jumping through hoops and  
you won't even ask why. Our Aesir women are no man's lackey, and my daughter even less  
so than most.

I tuned back into the conversation that had continued on without me, and heard Leif  
make a derogatory comment about Grim being related to trolls and not noble Aesir men,  
which was not surprising, given what Grim had done to the poor kid.

"Oh, you're dead right there, Leif," Bella agreed. "I've always thought he should  
seek among the troll kin for a wife, since no other girl would put up with him. I'm also glad  
you don't agree with his assessment of me, else we'd have a real argument every day. This  
way, we might have one only every other day."

Leif looked faintly nonplussed, as if the idea of Bella arguing with him did not sit  
quite right or perhaps the strain of carrying on such a debate was too wearying for him in his  
delicate state. I noted the telltale signs of exhaustion around his mouth and eyes, signs he  
was ignoring for the pleasure of my daughter's company. In the interests of his health, I  
decided to interrupt their little debate for now.

I cleared my throat, and both of them started and looked at me in astonishment, I  
think they'd forgotten I was there. "While I'm sure you two could go on all night shredding  
Grim's character, among other things, it's growing late and Leif needs a good night's sleep  
more than conversation."

"Yes, you're right. We'll talk some more tomorrow," Bella said quickly, looking  
somewhat chagrined. She rose to her feet.

"But I feel fine," Leif argued, looking sulky, like a two-year-old told to do something  
he didn't want to. "I'm not tired at all."

"Oh yes you are, young man, you simply don't realize it yet," I put in firmly. Bella  
took the hint and left, bidding us good night.

Leif gazed after her longingly, then shot me a petulant glare. "You didn't have to  
send her away. I'm not the least bit sleepy, I slept all day. I'm not a little kid, you know."

"True, but you are my patient, Leif Malasteinsson, and as such under my care. Bella  
realizes, as I do, that you're not fully recovered from your ordeal, and as such you need more  
rest than usual. Healing takes a lot out of you, naturally or magically. As your physician I  
know what's best for your health, boy, so quit sulking and just do as I say."

I used my most authoritative tone of voice when I said that to him, knowing he'd  
respond automatically to it, as he'd been raised to obey a dominant male figure.

He lowered his gaze to the pillow and murmured, "Yes, sir. Whatever you say,  
Master."

"Close your eyes and go to sleep, lad," I said in a gentler tone. "You'll feel ten times  
better tomorrow morning, trust me."

He sighed and lay back against the pillow, and as soon as he closed his eyes he was  
asleep, just as I'd predicted. It was only then that his body could begin to truly heal the  
damage done to him.

I left the door slightly ajar, and sought my own bed. I rose several times during the  
night to check on him, making sure no fever returned and that he was sleeping peacefully.  
The fever remained absent, but he murmured and whimpered the second time I came by, and  
I sat beside his bed, humming a soothing tune that would counteract the nightmares he was  
having. I was very good with suggestion spells and it was this that I wove into his dreams,  
helping him banish the night terrors back into the void. He slept then, his breathing calm  
and his face serene as a little child's. Though I'd wager a thousand gold crowns that he'd  
have been embarrassed as hell if he'd known I'd just sung him to sleep to the tune of "Hush,  
Little Baby." Hey, whatever works, right?

Satisfied he'd sleep soundly now, I returned to bed, and slept right through Ragnar's  
crowing, only awakening when Ava rattled the pots on the stove as she cooked breakfast.

Leif improved steadily after that, though I kept him confined to his bed for the next  
two afternoons to give the welts time to scab over. Bella and I visited him regularly, taking  
our meals together, though in the afternoon he was left alone since that was our preferred  
time to go riding. I gave him some books of basic mage craft to study while we were gone,  
so he wasn't bored with waiting for our return.

I was surprised that he'd had no real tutoring in his Gift before this, since the Vanir  
were usually quick to recognize magical Talent in their offspring. As a rule, Vanir were  
more magically inclined than their Aesir brethren, which led me to think that I was probably  
the offspring of an Aesir-Vanir cross, instead of the more popular giant the mortals made  
me out to be. Giants have different magical abilities, mostly having to do with earth and  
stone, whereas I was largely Gifted with fire and air as well as some elements of the forest,  
which gave me my shapeshifting abilities.

Bella I also suspected had Vanir blood in her, as well as mortal (undoubtedly) and  
Aesir. The Vanir blood gave her a delicacy of face and form that many of the Aesir lacked,  
but from her Aesir ancestor she'd gained a hardiness of spirit and body. It was anyone's  
guess what she'd inherited from her mortal half, unless it was stubbornness, for mortals were  
among the stubbornest creatures ever to walk the earth. But they were also insatiably  
curious and innovative, traits my daughter had in abundance.

However, they were traits I also shared, and that is probably the reason why I always  
felt comfortable around them. Mortals lived brief lives compared to our own, but I had long  
ago observed that they packed several immortal lifetimes worth of experience into their  
single span. Or they did if they were lucky. Impulsive, reckless, headstrong, yes humans  
were all those things, but they were also full of a vigor we immortals lacked as a race.

I said as much to my new pupil the second afternoon. "There is much we can learn  
from humans, as well as much we can teach them."

Leif gaped at me as if I'd just suggested he stand on his head naked. "Humans teach  
us? But Master, they're lesser creatures than us, what can we possibly learn from them?"

"Quite a lot. Where do you think I learned my medical knowledge? Not our people,  
you can be sure, for they have no need for such. For that I studied among the great healers  
of Midgard—the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, and the Arabs. They taught me the  
techniques I used on you. That comfrey salve which worked such wonders on your sore  
skin—that was invented by a human doctor. The fever syrup I dosed you with is a secret  
cure made from the bark of willows discovered by an Egyptian physician, and so is the  
poppy pain reliever. Oh, there is much we can learn from humans, apprentice. We may  
have powers they lack and lifespans they can only envy, but we are not all-knowing or wise,  
though some among us would like to think so."

"But once we ruled over humans," Leif argued. "Doesn't that by definition mean we  
are better than they?"

"You tell me. Thor rules here in Asgard for a time. Do you think he is a good ruler?  
You have seen how he treats servants firsthand, yet he is in power over you. Do you think  
he is better than you because people bow to him and call him Regent?"

"No! Thor doesn't rule, he tyrannizes people. He takes the power he's given and  
uses it to make people fear him."

"Exactly my point. For that is what several immortals did to humans long ago. They  
set themselves up as gods, and caused mortals to worship them. It was a game to them, only  
the pieces they played with weren't wooden toys but real people. And some of them did  
great harm to humans, causing war, famine, and death."

"You're speaking of the time when you Aesir were worshipped as gods."

"Yes, but we Aesir were not the only ones guilty of that mistake. Zeus and Hera,  
those who call themselves the Greco-Roman pantheon, Ra and Isis and the Egyptian  
immortals, Ishtar, Bal, Morrigan, Lugh and all the rest, we are all guilty of meddling in the  
affairs of mortals. And usually it was not for their good, but for our own selfish reasons."

"But we gave humans things they never would have had," Leif pointed out. "We  
taught them how to be civilized, how to build and cultivate, how to do more than just hunt  
and kill and survive."

"True. Some of us helped more than we harmed. But we also did great harm,  
stirring up old hatreds and causing wars. The Trojan War, that destroyed an entire  
civilization was encouraged by a few immortal ladies arguing over who was the fairest. An  
immortal beauty contest resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands. Do you think that  
is an act of a superior race?"

"Well, when you put it like that, no. But Loki, they worshipped you as a god too  
back then. You were the God of Mischief and Thieves."

I nodded. "I never said I was not guilty of the same mistakes as my fellow immortals  
once upon a time. But the difference with me is that I learned from mine. I never required  
my followers to sacrifice more to me than the occasional jewel or cake or perhaps a rabbit  
or two. I didn't demand human sacrifice or grand temples nor smash humans to a pulp when  
they didn't show me proper homage. I was the god of tricks and pranks, I taught them to  
laugh and play and to take joy in being imperfect beings. I was the god of thieves too, but  
never that of murderers or assassins. I never told any of my worshippers to kill in my name  
either. Humans killed all too often as it was, they didn't need any encouragement. My  
relatives, they had their followers slaughter right and left, but I refused to do that. They  
called me coward, but I didn't care then, for I had learned the meaning of peace. A very  
wise man named Jesus taught me that."

"I've heard of that one. The White Christ, his followers call him. He was once one  
of us, wasn't he?"

"Yes and no. He was half-mortal too. But he sacrificed himself for the good of the  
world and in so doing attained a true immortality. He was one of the most unselfish beings  
I have ever known. A great Healer. It is why his teachings still survive on Midgard today.  
Because peace is the one thing that lasts." I smiled sadly. "Once I thought otherwise. But  
I have since been proven wrong."

"And yet, humans kill in the name of Christ as much now as they did the names of  
our relatives," Leif pointed out.

I grimaced. "Yes, I know. A great irony, that. And a tragedy too. But no one ever  
said the human race is perfect. I have since come to the conclusion that they are like us,  
with good and bad individuals among them. But they have two things we lack—hope and  
change. The hope to someday be better and the will to change and make it so. But you'll  
understand better when you go down to Midgard one day and see for yourself."

"Then you're going to take me to Midgard soon?"

"Eventually. You don't just pop over to Midgard the way you do to a country fair.  
It takes a good bit of planning, you need supplies, disguises, and so forth. But someday I  
shall take you and Bella there. It is vastly different from Asgard and even Vanaheim. It has  
a beauty all its own."

"Is that why your Odin spends so much time there?"

"Partly. But Midgard offers us challenges our own realms don't. You'll understand  
better when you see it. Odin fell in love with it long ago and has remained so to this day."

So passed our second afternoon together. The next I began quizzing on him his  
knowledge of magical studies, and then I learned that he would have begun lessons with a  
tutor of magic had he been home, but instead he'd been sent here, and his magical studies  
had been put on hold.

"That was a foolish thing to do. Magic waits for neither god nor man. Once it  
emerges, it needs training, lest it become a danger to others and to the magician as well.  
Every magician knows that, even the least among us. Your father should have trained you  
in the basics of control if nothing else, especially before sending you here. Oh well, no use  
in crying over spilt milk, as they say. You're my apprentice now and I can teach you as well  
if not better than any Vanir master."

"Who was your master, sir?"

"No one and everyone." I laughed at his puzzled expression. "Didn't anyone ever  
tell you I was never formally taught? I learned on my own, through trial and error, as I was  
never considered good enough to rate a formal tutor as a child, since I was just an orphan.  
Nor did my foster parents have money for one."

"But I thought you just said it was dangerous to learn magic without a teacher."

"It is. I wouldn't recommend it, trust me. I was extremely lucky not to have killed  
myself a dozen times over. But when you're an orphan without a family, you learn to  
depend on no one but yourself. I have always been an intuitive magician, it was that which  
saved me from making too many major mistakes that would have killed me. And eventually  
I met other magicians willing to give me advice and a few lessons here and there, though I  
was never formally apprenticed. But, as I said, teaching yourself magic is not what I'd  
recommend at all. It is a magician's duty, I believe, to teach others the responsible use of  
the Art. That is why you're here, after all."

"My father would be horrified, I think, if he learned I was being tutored by the  
Master of Mischief," Leif said with a mischievous grin.

"Too damn bad," I growled. "I'm the only one available who could teach you with  
any degree of competence and speed around here. So he can take his pretensions and shove  
them where the sun doesn't shine."

Leif collapsed in laughter. "Oh, sir! If he ever heard you say that . . .he'd be . . ."

"Struck dumb, collapsed in a fit, frothing at the mouth?" I suggested, my eyes  
twinkling. "Pity all you Vanir lords can't take a bit of friendly criticism. It does wonders  
for your self-image. And you start to behave like a normal person instead of an icon."

"You have no respect for those in authority, do you, Master?"

"Very little, mostly because those in authority have no respect for me. It works both  
ways, Leif. Respect has to be earned, not blindly given. That's one lesson I learned on  
Midgard. It's also the one lesson that escapes most of us immortals, Aesir as well as Vanir."  
I drew in a breath. "Be that as it may, we were discussing the aspects of power."

By the fourth morning, I pronounced him healed enough to leave his bed and join  
Bella and I on our outdoor excursions. The welts had faded to almost nothing, save a few  
white lines. The memories would take longer. Indeed, I doubted he'd ever forget what  
happened. But such was life, and he'd learned a valuable lesson in the abuse of power,  
necessary for a young magician.

I taught my young charges about botany and nature as well as those magics  
associated with woods, fields, and streams. I explained much of my knowledge had been  
gained from spending years roaming the great forest on the border of Asgard, as well as  
learning from the dryads, pixies, and other fae who dwelled there. They had been eager and  
willing tutors in the Art and it was why I never discounted them the way so many of the so-  
called higher immortals did. I taught them how to become one with the land around them,  
to use the magic to make it part of them, for in this way they would learn how to shape shift.

Bella already knew how to transform into several marine creatures, such as a  
dolphin, a sea turtle, or a gray whale. But this was Leif's first experience, and in order to  
do a shift properly, you must not only understand the animal you became, but the place  
where it lived. Everything was interconnected. For this first time, we became foxes, later  
we practiced as squirrels, wolves, cats and rabbits. Leif eventually learned how to transform  
into a bird, and unlike me, he didn't suffer from queasiness afterwards. Neither had my flare  
for shifting, but mine was an unusual ability, and I did not expect it of them.

The days drifted from winter into spring, and before I knew it Leif had been with us  
over three months, a regular member of the household by now. I began teaching him fire  
magic now, which was at once the easiest and most difficult of the elemental disciplines to  
master. Every apprentice can conjure a ball of witchlight or a fire spark spell that can light  
a candle or start a small campfire or singe the britches of an annoying suitor, which was  
what my daughter had done once to a young man who wouldn't take no for an answer. But  
fire was unpredictable, like cats and men, and one could never truly call oneself fire's  
master. Even I couldn't say that, and I had been playing with fire, so to speak, for centuries.  
With fire, you had to maintain the tightest discipline over emotions, and spell out exactly  
what you wanted it to do, for given a loophole in a spell matrix, it would slip through and  
wreak merry hell.

I had a special room in my tower made especially for fire conjuring, bare stone  
prepared with layer upon layer of fire repellent magic and dousing spells. It was where I  
went to refine or test new fire spells and it was where I brought Leif in turn to begin his  
training. There, I could be reasonably sure that if a spell did go awry, I could halt it without  
damage to either magician or my house.

But for a month before I allowed him to set foot there, I drilled him relentlessly in  
the meditative disciplines, for you only got one chance with fire. He hated those sessions,  
as most of my apprentices did, but they were vital in a young magician's schooling, and I  
never neglected them. I had put myself through the same regimen, so I knew just what a  
pain in the ass they were, but sacrifice was part and parcel of mastery.

Ran had put Bella through the same type of torture, so she was sympathetic to Leif's  
bitching. Up to a point, that is. Then she told him to shut up and quit whining. He did. For  
some reason, it was more effective when she said it then when I did. Must be a woman  
thing. For I had noticed that first night that he was attracted to her and wanted to impress  
her. It was only natural, I suppose, and I did not mind it.

Leif was a Vanir gentleman to the bone, I didn't need to worry about him forgetting  
himself and trying to force his attentions on my daughter. He had developed a rather acute  
case of puppy love, I thought at the time. Typical adolescent behavior. Bella seemed to  
return it, and I watched with knowing eyes from afar. Nothing wrong with a little romance.

Besides, I left them little time to be alone, for the mornings and a good part of the  
afternoon were taken up with Leif's lessons in fire magery and as he progressed further, I  
added air to it. Air was more malleable than fire, some said too malleable, but that was not  
entirely true. One could mold air easier, but air could be a stubborn adversary, and deadly  
if roused. Tornadoes, hurricanes, all of the great storms had been spawned from air, and like  
any element it had its dark side as well as its light.

On the light side, air magery lent itself easily to spells of illusion, trickery, and  
deceit—my stock in trade. Disguises and seeming glamours, they had been the companions  
of my lonely youth, assuming them for an afternoon had enabled me to become at least for  
a short time someone other than the unwanted outcast that belonged nowhere, Loki Son of  
Nobody. And in the casting of disguises, I had learned the trick of seeing truly, until now  
it was rare for me to be fooled by illusion.

Leif proved apt at illusion casting. He was an attentive student, one of my best, and  
I enjoyed my lessons with him immensely. He was especially good at disguising objects, of  
making a stick look like a snake, or a rock like a ruby, putting the illusionary skin on so tight  
against the true object that it was hard for a mage to see through it. Even I, for all my  
experience and my well-honed Sight, was sometimes fooled by his illusions.

"You could make a fortune as a thief," I had teased one afternoon, when he'd tricked  
me into believing a mere garnet was a first rate ruby.

"For awhile. Until my father caught wind of it and then I'd be a dead thief," he  
answered solemnly, though I could tell he was pleased by my praise.

I gathered from some of his remarks that he was deathly afraid of his sire, and  
perhaps his agreement to sell himself into slavery had been more for himself than his  
family's fortune. Perhaps it had been the only way he could see of getting out from his  
father's thumb. Malastein seemed to rule merely by breathing, he wasn't deliberately cruel,  
but he insisted on immediate obedience, he was like a force of nature. I remarked once that  
for all his force of command, he'd been unable to control his failing finances, and Leif had  
snorted and said that'd been the one thing he couldn't control, but he'd been working on it.

I began to understand why Leif had agreed to something which I would have found  
intolerable. As a son in his father's house, he lived under a form of slavery already, so  
agreeing to give his bond to Odin was not the utter subjugation of spirit it would have been  
to me.

Only now did he begin to see that there was another way, that it was not necessary  
to bend his will totally to another's, that he could make some of his own decisions and they  
were good ones. I did not demand unquestioning obedience from anyone, such a concept  
was utterly abhorrent to me, who loved freedom. I routinely changed lessons when and if  
I felt like it, I had no set schedule after I'd taught him the basic disciplines.

"Magic is flexible, so too should the magician be," was one of my mottos.

"You're unlike any teacher I've ever had," he confided to me one day after a walk  
through the woods. "All the other tutors I had always insisted on being on time, keeping to  
the schedule, and learning what they taught solemnly."

"Boring, autocratic, and utterly humorless. Rather like a mummy," I rolled my eyes.  
"Just the kind of teacher I'd hate, if I'd had one. Always stern and glowering, wouldn't  
crack a smile to save his life, and all too ready to punish the slightest lapse with a switch,  
am I right?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh, what pranks I'd have pulled with that one," I smiled, my nose twitching. "That  
kind of uptight idiot just begs for a snake curled up round his books or disappearing ink or  
a severe case of belching or hives."

"But if he'd found out you'd been behind it, you'd have been beaten good and  
proper."

"Not if he couldn't prove anything. I'm not known as the Trickster for nothing. That  
kind can't stand to be laughed at, humiliation is the worst torment for them. I'd have driven  
him to tears and stammers within a week and he'd have resigned the day after."

Leif snickered. "I'd have paid good money to see that."

"What I've never understood is why anyone would put somebody like that in charge  
of their children? Oh, I know the old excuse, children need discipline, a firm hand, and all  
that nonsense." I made my voice deep and sonorous, like some stern lord's. Then I shrugged  
a shoulder and said in my normal tones, "But children learn no better for being scared to  
death than they do by being coaxed into it. In fact, I've found they learn worse if they're  
terrified. And isn't the whole point of teaching to make sure your pupil likes what you  
teach? And I've yet to meet a child who enjoys being scared into obedience. Which is why  
you'll never see a switch in my hand, Mr. Malasteinsson. Because the key to a willing  
student isn't obedience, it's a willing teacher. You should only teach what you love, then  
you'll have no problems. I'd wager if you went back and asked all those stiff masters if they  
liked teaching, they'd say they hated it and would have rather been out planting corn or  
counting money or married to some pretty village maid instead. But the corn crop failed,  
the money was stolen, and the maid ran off with the butcher's boy, and what could they do?  
Why, teach, since all they had was an education, and it was the proper thing to do. And they  
hated it and made everyone's life a misery as a result."

"What would you have done differently if you were them, Master?"

**A/N: Loki's reply to Leif will be coming next chapter, as he reveals that he's not your ordinary master to the young Vanir. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed this!**


	10. All For Love

**All For Love**

I hesistated a little before answering. ﻿"Me? I'd have said to hell with tradition and gone off on my own, planted wheat instead of corn, made some money as a scribe, and married some other girl. Life is what you  
choose to make of it, Leif. Opportunities are always there, you simply have to see them, and  
then if you wish, you need the courage to act upon them. That way you'll always be happy.  
And you'll never end up a grim old sourpuss who needs a switch to keep his students in  
line." I finished with a wink. "Now, tell me the truth, am I not a better teacher than those  
others you've had?"

"The best," he assured me and grinned.

And I was. Too good, unfortunately. A fact which would later return to haunt me.  
Had I known then . . .but it's always easy to look back and say what if. Back then during  
those halcyon days of spring and summer, I was content as I'd never been, with an eager  
student to teach all my hard won knowledge to, and my daughter beside me, with her witty  
comments and spirited grin. Life was good.

I should have known it was too good to last, but I had forgotten the lessons of my  
youth. And I had not reckoned with love throwing everything into turmoil.

* * * * * * *

I had been aware for some time of the infatuation between Leif and Bella. I had  
watched the seeds of it sprout and take root that day when Bella had engaged my apprentice  
in that conversation about the merits of women versus men. I did not think it would blossom  
into a full-fledged romance. I had seen such things before, and I reckoned that it would burn  
itself out in time. I noted with amusement the little glances, the smiles, the giggles when  
they chanced to meet beside the barn and thought I wasn't looking. But the glances lingered  
and grew more heated, and the smiles they exchanged were those secret ones only a lover  
may know, and giggles became whispers. One month became three and then six before I  
realized that the infatuation had deepened into love. I may be wise in the ways of magic, but  
in matters of the heart I'm a babe in the woods.

Soon enough the whispers became cuddles and I knew it had grown serious when I  
saw them kissing beneath the oak tree one morning, having chanced to look out of my  
window at the thrushes singing. My first impulse was to rush outside and demand to know  
what in blazes they were doing. But I checked that instinctive fatherly impulse. It was quite  
obvious for one, and for another, I did not truly mind them being in love, if this was what  
it was.

I liked Leif, he was intelligent and thoughtful, kind and considerate. He would be  
a fine magician once he completed his training. Not quite a master, but a respectable magus.  
Even more important, he made Bella happy. She glowed when she was with him, and there  
was that indefinable sparkle in her eyes that spoke of a woman who was in love and knows  
her love is returned. I had seen that same look in Nanna's eyes when she looked at Baldur  
and once or twice in Sigyn's as well.

So I didn't play the overprotective idiot and get hysterical over that kiss. I was  
certain that if there were something between them, Bella would let me know. She had  
always come to me before with her confidences and this time, I was sure, would be no  
different. She was simply waiting for the right moment. I doubted they had gone further  
than kissing, for one thing my room was across the hall from Bella's and I would have heard  
if anything had been going on. Of course, they could have used the barn or snuck out to the  
woods, but Heror and Olga would have known, and they would have lost no time in  
gossiping about it to me.

Leif had been raised to the honor of a Vanir noble, and when one of his class finds  
the woman he wishes to marry, he proposes first and beds her afterwards, once the alliance  
is safely contracted. And I knew my daughter well enough by now to know she was no  
lightskirt, and only when she gave her heart would she also give her body. Then again, there  
is a certain chemistry between lovers that's very apparent if you know what to look for,  
which I did. It was not there between them. So I had no fear that he'd gotten her pregnant.

But I didn't think it would be long before he asked her, and then asked my  
permission as well. Still, I kept silent, allowing them to think their little secret was  
undiscovered. I played my role so well even Ava was fooled.

I caught her singing one evening over the chicken she was basting. "Gonna be a  
wedding round here sure enough! I can always tell." She was muttering to herself and then  
she broke into song, something about bluebells and spring and young lovers in a meadow.

"What nonsense are you babbling about?" I inquired, stalking soft-footed up behind  
her.  
I caught her off guard for once, for she jumped like a scalded cat. "Master Loki! You  
gave me a fright," she gasped, and shook her spoon at me in reproof.

I gave her a guilty little smile, then repeated my earlier question.

"Tisn't nonsense at all," she declared, sniffing haughtily as if I'd just compared her  
cooking to a troll-wife's. "It's as plain as day to those whose eyes are open enough to see,  
Master. And not being blinded by tricks."

"Meaning me, I suppose?"

"And who else would I mean, seeing as you and me are the only ones in this kitchen  
that ain't in love with each other?" she asked, tapping the spoon against the side of the oven.

"Ah. You're speaking of Bella and Leif. You think they're in love then?"

"I surely do, sir. And I can't believe you didn't notice it before, and you supposedly  
this all-powerful magician," she snickered.

I let her laugh, then I punctured her inflated sense of pride with one sentence. "Of  
course I knew! Do you think I'm stupid? A blind man could see they were in love."

Ava's tiny mouth fell open. "Then—then it's not a surprise to you? But-But if you  
knew, then why didn't you say anything?"

"To whom? You or them? They already know and now so do you, little Nis." I said,  
grinning archly.

"Master Loki, you are so bad!" she said, stamping her tiny foot. "Knowing a thing  
like that and never telling me! What's the world coming to, I'd like to know, when the Nis  
is the last person in the house to know 'bout a wedding? You ought to be ashamed of  
yourself, keeping me in the dark, so you should!" Then she crossed her arms and gave me  
a very severe look, rather like an indignant cat.

"Does this mean I don't get any dessert tonight?" I asked, pretending to be chastened.  
I had to bite my lip to keep from howling with laughter.

"Humph! For that you ought to go without dessert the whole week."  
"If I promise to be a g  
ood boy and never to do it again will you forgive me?" I asked  
humbly. "Or do I have to stand in the corner too?"

She eyed me askance, then snorted. "Oh, you—you silver-tongued rogue! Just get  
out of my kitchen. You're making me forget what herbs I need. Go on, scat!" she made as  
if to whack me with her spoon.

I ducked, laughing. "Do I still get dessert, O Most Wonderful and Incomparable of  
Nisses?"

"Yes, yes. Here!" and she snapped her fingers and an entire cherry pie materialized  
in her hands. "Now get, before I serve you liver and onions for supper stead of chicken . .  
. sir."

I took the pie, thanked her, and got out. No sense in pushing Ava too far. Nisses can  
be temperamental little creatures. I heard her singing an old wedding tune as I left. I smiled.  
It'd been a long time since I'd tricked a pie out of Ava. Then I took the pie to my study and  
ate two slices of it. No sense in letting good food go to waste, now is there? It was delicious,  
bursting with cherries and the crust was crumbly and buttery.

One afternoon, Leif said he was going up to Valhalla to trade the butter and cheese,  
since that day was market day in the capital, and he needed to pick up a few things. I waved  
him off, he knew he didn't need to ask permission to leave, he was free to come and go as  
he pleased. He whistled as he saddled Briar, the strawberry roan gelding I'd bought for him  
five months ago, and loaded the cheese and butter into the saddlebags. Bella and he  
exchanged significant glances. Then he was off, and Bella was smiling and humming to  
herself.

It was a beautiful day, mild and sunny, and the robins had built their nest right under  
the eaves of the house and had just had three eggs hatch. I watched the parents feeding the  
babies, smiling fondly as I recalled my own days of running back and forth with bottles.  
And now my baby girl was all grown-up and considering her first proposal of marriage.  
Damn, but my eyes are watering! Must be the pollen from the sunflowers.

I went inside and found Bella standing at the window that faced the road, a dreamy  
smile on her face. I could hardly fail to notice the way she was dressed—in her best aqua  
silk with the white lace edging on the cuffs and hem, her silvery-gold hair put up and the  
pearl earrings I'd given her for her birthday last year in her ears. Dainty Moroccan leather  
slippers of the same hue as the dress were on her feet. The runestone I'd fashioned for her  
long ago was still on her neck, worn proudly.

I gazed at her and thought how beautiful she was, such a girl as to make any father  
proud. Pride warred with sadness in my breast then, for once she married, she would leave  
me and go to live with her new husband. Perhaps I could build them a small cottage beyond  
the pasture near the woods, far enough to give them privacy, but not too far. After all, Leif  
was still my apprentice, married or not, and he would continue to study with me until I  
pronounced him graduated. Bella would do the same with Ran, so in that regard things  
wouldn't change.

I decided then to break my silence. I had a feeling that Leif had gone to Valhalla for  
more than just selling cheese and when he returned in a day or two, it would be with a  
betrothal ring. He probably needed some time alone to think about what he was doing,  
especially since he was doing it without the approval of his lord father. That in itself was  
a huge step, never mind the betrothal.

I think Bella suspected this as well, thus the dress and the longing looks out the  
window. I came to stand beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Is there something  
you'd like to tell me? You seem unusually . . .happy today."

She turned to face me, and her jade eyes sparkled brilliantly, glowing with  
excitement and delight. "I am happy today, Father. You see, Leif and I . . .we're in love and  
I think that today he's gone off to buy me a ring." She was grinning, obviously rapturous  
over the coming proposal. "D'you think he might return tonight?"

"He may, if he finds what he's looking for," I said, smiling back at her. "Has he  
asked you to marry him then?"

"Uh, not officially, but I know he means to as soon as he has the ring. Are you glad,  
Father?"

"Does he make you happy, Bella?"

"Oh, yes! He makes me want to sing and dance all the time and he says I make him  
feel the same. I love him, Father, and it feels wonderful."

"Then that's all that matters." I hugged her then, kissing her gently on the cheek.  
"Congratulations, my darling girl. I wish you and him every happiness."

"Thank you, Father," she whispered, tears of joy glinting in her eyes. "I only hope  
his will prove as understanding."

"And if not?" I asked cautiously. "What will you do then?"

"We'll marry anyhow, and his lord father be damned," she declared fiercely. "Leif  
says he won't approve of me no matter what, since he likes to choose his sons' wives for  
them. And I say it's not his place to choose for us and I'll make him a better wife than any  
blue-blooded Vanir lady, no matter what ancestors she has. And if his lord father doesn't  
like it, he can bloody well stay home and miss the wedding."

"And what does Leif say to that?"

"Leif says his father doesn't own him and he can get on quite well without him. And  
if the old man decides to cut him off, well, he can make his own way as a magician and so  
can I."

"That's the spirit. I'm glad that young man has finally got up the guts to tell his  
father to go to hell. Maybe now he'll stop living in his father's shadow and start being his  
own person. All that nonsense about marrying another pedigreed Vanir lady always made  
my stomach turn. They treat their children like purebred dogs or horses instead of people  
with minds of their own."

"Well, Leif certainly doesn't believe any of that nonsense. He said just yesterday that  
he'd marry me or no one at all. Do you think we should have the wedding here or maybe  
at Ran's palace?"

"Uh, wherever you like, I guess. Though Ran's palace will be more able to  
accommodate a lot of guests."

"Yes, I hadn't thought of that. I must ask Ran if she wouldn't mind playing hostess.  
But I have to wait till he gets back here with the ring." She began to tap her foot impatiently.

"Stop that," I ordered. "You're making me crazy. I suppose we may as well  
celebrate early. Come on, let's go to my study. I'll have Ava bring us some champagne."

"You have champagne?"

"Yeah, just a few bottles though. Because you never know who's going to get  
married." I said, and twirled her around. Then I set her down and bellowed, "Ava!  
Champagne in my study, if you don't mind. We're celebrating a betrothal here. Or we will  
be as soon as the groom gets back."

We retired to the study, which had suddenly sported a table with a white tablecloth  
and a large bouquet of fresh flowers. We sat down and soon enough Ava appeared with the  
champagne, iced and poured into two crystal flutes. I lifted my glass. "Here's to my  
daughter, may she have the marriage I never did and may it be joyful."

We touched glasses and drank. "That's so sweet, Father." Bella said. "Only now I  
feel bad, because once I marry you'll be alone again."

I held up a hand. "Whoa there, princess. Don't you worry about me. It won't kill  
me to be alone, I've lived alone longer than you've been alive. I'll miss you, sure, but all  
children grow up and leave home eventually. You just did it quicker than most, that's all.  
Guess that shouldn't surprise me, you always were quicker than average."

"Are you sure? Because we could wait . . ."

"Positive. You do what feels right to you, sweetheart. If you want to marry him by  
the end of summer, you can. Or wait, as you choose. But don't you dare put anything off  
on my account, you hear me?" I pretended to frown dreadfully at her.

"Yes, sir," she said, and pretended to touch her forelock, the way commoners did  
when Odin went by on parade. Then she lost her air of mock servility and giggled. "I can't  
tell you how excited I am about this. It's just too bad you don't have someone too. You're  
alone too much, Father."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on. You're in love so the whole world has to be, is that  
it? Bella, love, like time and tide, waits for no man. If it's meant to happen it'll come and  
find me. Just the way Leif did you. Until then I'm content to play the solitary magician.  
You're my family, girl, I don't need a wife. I'd probably drive her crazy anyhow. Soon  
enough I'll have grandchildren running about the place, and then I'll long for that peace and  
quiet." I poured myself another glass of champagne.

"Whatever you say, Father," Bella said meekly, but there was a speculative gleam  
in her eye that I didn't like.

"Hey. Don't get any ideas about fixing me up with some woman at the wedding  
either. Otherwise I might forget how old you are and take you over my knee." I warned.

"I wasn't thinking anything like that!" she protested, but with a half-guilty look on  
her face, and I knew I'd been dead on target.

"Forget it, Bella. I don't need a fifteen-year-old playing matchmaker."

"I'm sixteen. Not fifteen," she corrected. "And that's much too old to spank." She was right, she'd had a birthday this past month.

"I know. I was kidding about that. But not about the matchmaking."

"Oh, very well. If you want to stay here and brood all by yourself in your tower, go  
ahead."

"I'd hardly call it brooding. And I'm not really alone. There's Ava and Heror and  
Olga."

"A Nis, a horse, and a goat are hardly substitutes for a wife."

"If I wanted a wife, young lady, I'd have gone out and gotten one when I took you  
in. But I didn't need one then and I don't now. Now quit worrying your head about me, you  
stubborn snip, and just concentrate on planning your wedding, okay?"

"I love you, Father," she said.

"Love you too, sunshine. Now, what kind of cake do you want? How about double  
chocolate with strawberries and buttercream frosting? You always liked that on your  
birthday. You've got to pick the cake first, since Ava needs time to make it."

"And you need time to test taste it," my brilliant daughter pointed out knowingly.

"That goes without saying."

"I like chocolate, but Leif doesn't. How about a yellow cake with peach filling and  
buttercream frosting?"

"Bananas. Peaches aren't in season. How about we make it half and half?"

We discussed cakes and menus and guest lists till Ava called us in for dinner. Leif  
still wasn't back yet. We ate without him, arguing good naturedly over details. If that seems  
strange, please remember this was my only daughter's wedding, and she had no mother to  
help plan it. Nanna and Sigyn were going to have to help with the bridal gown though. I  
draw the line at clothes. Meals and guests I can handle, clothes are a woman's mystery and  
best left to them.

When she went to bed, Bella was still walking on air. I was mentally calculating  
costs in my head and wishing I had time to rob a bank down in Midgard. Do you have any  
idea how expensive a wedding is? Even with my magic defraying some of the expenses, it  
was going to chop a huge hole in my savings. I wished Odin would hurry up and get home.  
He was always good for a loan, and Bella was his niece. Oh well, your daughter only gets  
married once, right? Thank the stars I didn't have to go through this with another one.  
Maybe we could serve tuna at the feast, that was easy enough to catch, and Ran's people  
would make sure everyone had enough. But was tuna suitable for a wedding feast?

I fell asleep still pondering the merits of fish versus wild boar.


	11. Heartache

**Heartache**

﻿The next morning dawned and I went out to the barn as usual. Leif and Briar still  
hadn't returned. I didn't think anything of it. Picking out just the right ring for your bride  
took time. As did convincing yourself that losing your inheritance and your family's good  
opinion didn't matter. But Leif would come round. I had seen the way he looked at Bella.  
He truly loved her. Maybe he was composing poetry to propose to her or something.

Bella came rushing into the kitchen, looking about eagerly for her beloved. Her  
shoulders slumped when she saw I was the only man in the room. Then she shook her head  
and said brightly, "Oh, well. Guess he slept late or something. He'll be along by the  
afternoon, no doubt."

I left her choosing fabrics for her wedding gown and went for a ride on Heror. When  
I returned it was nearly time for lunch. The house was sparkling clean. Not that it usually  
wasn't, but this time there was something extra there, and I suspected Ava of using her  
special brand of magic to make the house shine for the betrothal that was sure to be  
announced this afternoon. I changed into my favorite emerald green tunic and matching  
pants with my black boots. I didn't dare sit down on the chair in the sitting room before  
then, Ava would have skinned me for getting horsehair on her cushions.

While my Nis took a nap and Bella dreamed of Leif, I brooded on the best way to not  
invite some of my hated relatives to the wedding. Such as Thor and Grim, for instance. Was  
there a way to politely request that you and your family stay away until most of the guests  
had gone home, so you didn't end up embarrassing your uncle and getting turned into a toad  
for it? Maybe I could send them one formal invitation and then put a message in  
it—something like ruin my daughter's wedding, and I'll make you regret it for a millennium.  
Yes, that might work.

A small brown hand tapped me on the shoulder, bringing me up out of my reverie  
with a start. "What is it, Ava?"

The Nis looked grave. "I got a bad feeling in my bones, Master."

"A bad feeling? What did you do, burn the leg of lamb or something? Forget to make  
an extra batch of biscuits?"

"Don't make fun of me, Master Loki!" she flared. "I is serious. Something bad is  
coming. I can feel it."

"Like what? A storm or something?"

"No, it's not the weather. Just . . . something bad. I don't know what."

"Ava, Ava." I shook my head. "If I had a copper penny every time you got one of  
your feelings . . ."

She glared at me. "Master, please! Last time this happened, Bella was nearly eaten  
by that rotten nixie."

"What? You never told me that."

"I didn't know what I was feeling then. Now I do and it's the same." She was  
wringing her hands. "Something bad is coming, I just know it. My bones are shivering."

"Okay. Take it easy, Ava," I said in my most soothing tones. I'd never seen her like  
this. She was really agitated and scared. "Why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea?  
That always makes me feel better."

"Yes. Perhaps that might help." She hopped on the table and sat cross-legged on a  
small cushion. Then she twitched a finger and a cup of tea the size of a doll's cup appeared  
in front of her. She sipped it and sighed, closing her eyes.

"Better?"

"A little. But still . . .I know something awful is going to happen."

"Where? Here or somewhere else?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know. But it scares me."

"Take a couple of deep breaths." I instructed. "Now drink some more tea."

She obeyed, then stood up. "I feel much better now. Thank you, Master. But please  
be careful."

"I will," I assured her, touched by her concern. "Maybe I ought to cook tonight."

"You most certainly will not!" she flared, insulted. "I's not so scared I can't cook  
decently, no sir! No Nis ever let a bad feeling stop her from doing her duty, by the Tree and  
the Bough." Pots and pans began to fly out of the cupboard and onto the stove.

I left her alone, grumbling, "What does he think I am, some flittery scatterbrained  
fairy, huh? Not cook! I'll show him!"

She showed me, all right. Dinner that night would have been fit for a king. It would  
have been perfect save that Leif still had not come home. Bella was growing concerned, she  
kept glancing out the window every few minutes, listening for the clip clop of Briar's hooves  
on the road. She picked at her dinner, and asked me if I thought something might have  
happened to Leif.

"Now, don't go borrowing trouble, minx," I soothed. Guess this was the day for  
calming nervous females. Maybe it was something in the air. "He probably stayed to talk  
to Baldur or maybe he had to order the ring or something. I'm sure he's fine and champing  
at the bit thinking about the look on your face when he walks in the door."

She gave me a grateful smile. "I'm being silly, aren't I? Just like one of those stupid  
maids in a tale, who worry themselves to death thinking something bad has happened to their  
man and instead he was merely delayed on the road. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason  
why he's late. By tomorrow we'll all be laughing at how crazy I was acting."

"No doubt." I helped myself to more salmon in sherry cream sauce. "Ava's outdone  
herself tonight. Leif's gonna kick himself for missing out on this dinner."

She seemed to accept my explanation and stopped picking at her food and ate  
heartily. But even as I ate, I felt a thin prickle of danger spear itself between my  
shoulderblades. I shook my head irritably. Now I was getting as bad as Ava, letting my  
imagination run away with me, jumping at shadows like a scared child.

But the next morning brought no sign of Leif. Bella was frantic, insisting something  
had happened to him. "Maybe he had an accident, or maybe he got into a fight with Grim  
or something."

"Grim wouldn't dare to hurt Leif now," I reminded her. "He's not a bondservant  
anymore, he's my apprentice. Even Grim isn't stupid enough to tangle with me again."

"But what if he did? What if Leif's lying somewhere hurt? I think we need to go and  
look for him. He would have been back now, he wouldn't have stayed away this long."

"Okay. Calm down. I'll go up to Valhalla and look for him. You stay here in case  
he returns while I'm out." I was starting to get a nasty feeling about this. But I said nothing  
of that to Bella, who was starting to pace up and down. If she'd been a cat, she'd have been  
lashing her tail.

I didn't bother with riding Heror, simply blurred into a wolf and raced all the way  
to Valhalla. During my run I extended my magical senses, searching for Leif's magical aura.  
Every mage radiates his or her own personal aura, like a signature, and is recognized by  
another mage with it. I had scanned Leif's aura dozens of times and even if he were hurt,  
I would be able to sense it.

I found traces of his passing, but that was all.

Not good, Loki. Not good at all.

I reached the gates of Valhalla and assumed my normal shape. The guards on duty  
waved me through and I went directly to the stalls where the merchants were setting up their  
goods for the day. I visited several known jewelers, asking them if a young man of Leif's  
description had come by to look at betrothal rings. All but one of them said no. The last  
one, a jolly man with an honest countenance, said that he'd spoken to a young man who  
matched that description two days ago. He'd been looking at several of his rings but hadn't  
purchased any.

So Leif had been here, at least. The question was, where was he now?

I strolled up to the stables, figuring the grooms would know if Briar had been stabled  
here, they always kept track of visitors' horses. Their story was the same as the jeweler's.  
Yes, they'd seen Leif come here with the cheese and butter. They'd taken care of Briar for  
him. But Leif had left the next morning, for Briar was no longer there.

"Did any of you happen to see which way he went? Or hear him mention a ring or  
something?" I pressed, the uneasy feeling in my gut increasing.

But they all shook their heads. No one had seen him leave, nor had he seemed in any  
hurry to go back where he'd come from. I thanked them and left, then went up to the hall  
and spoke to Wulf, who was the head steward and the one who handled the transactions  
between Valhalla and myself. But he too admitted to speaking briefly to Leif, paying him  
the money for his produce, and then leaving.

"Did he happen to mention anything to you, Wulf? Like a visit to the market or  
something?"

"No. Not a thing. Why? Something happen?"

I shook my head. "No. I was just curious. It's not important," I lied.

If Leif had been intending to buy Bella a ring as he'd hinted, why wouldn't he have  
mentioned it to anyone? He should have been over the moon about it, like any ordinary  
young man in love, and talked about it nonstop to everyone who'd listen. But instead he'd  
completed his errand and left again, telling no one about his upcoming betrothal.

There could be only one reason why he hadn't mentioned it.

Because he'd never really intended to go through with it.

I felt sick. Instead of admitting he'd made a mistake and they should wait, he'd  
turned shadow, as we thieves say in the business. He'd run off and left without a word,  
leaving Bella waiting for a man who would never return.

I cursed and went home, dreading breaking the news to my poor daughter.

I almost wished he had met with an accident, because at least then he'd have an  
excuse for abandoning my daughter like that.

At first she refused to listen to me. "No! You're wrong. Something has happened  
to him, I just know it. He wouldn't just leave . . .not like that. He loves me. I'll go out  
myself and search for him. Then you'll see."

"Bella . . ."

But she ignored me and blurred into falcon shape. She took off like a shot, flying in  
the direction of Valhalla. I knew in my heart she would find no trace of him. He'd gone out  
of our lives as quickly as he'd come.

She returned sometime close to nightfall, exhausted and disheveled, hurt and  
disbelief and denial intermingled in her expressive eyes. "You were right. I called and  
called . . .but he didn't answer. He's a telepath too, I know he heard me. He's gone. Gone  
back to his blasted family, I'll bet. They'll all have a good laugh over the near escape he  
had, almost marrying his master's half-Aesir witch daughter." She swore in several  
languages. "I was such a fool."

"So was I. He fooled us both." I said bitterly. "He didn't, uh, sleep with you, did  
he?" I asked uncomfortably. If he had, I'd hunt him down and drag him back here by the  
scruff of his neck, I vowed.

"No. I wanted to wait until we were married." Bella admitted, tears shimmering in  
her eyes. She threw herself into my arms. "I thought he loved me, I really did! But he lied.  
He lied!" Then she began to cry.

I held her close, my heart aching. I cursed Leif Malasteinsson to depths of my soul.  
True, he hadn't taken my daughter's virginity, but he'd done something far worse. He'd  
broken her heart. And unlike the scraped knees and bruises of her childhood, this was one  
wound I couldn't fix with potions or magic. All I could do was hold her and pray she'd get  
over it in time.

Damn you to hell, Leif, I thought savagely. It's a good thing you aren't here right  
now, because if you were I'd make what Thor did to you look like child's play. How dare  
you do this to her, you miserable cowardly Vanir bastard? She's worthy twenty of you.

I would never forget this. I could only hope Bella's heart would mend in time. She  
was young, she'd get over this eventually. There would be other suitors, better ones. Ones  
that I'd make damn sure didn't pull a fast one on her. It could have been worse, I consoled  
myself later, after she'd gone to bed. He could have broken more than just her heart. He  
could have left her pregnant besides. It had happened before. To my mother, for one. Why  
else had she refused to name my father?

Little did we know that he'd stolen more than Bella's heart that day. The next  
morning I received a frantic summons from Thor. My deceitful apprentice had also stolen  
one of our greatest treasures. Odin's sacred spear, Gungnir. The Spear of War and Death.


	12. Spear Quest

**Spear Quest**

﻿Gungnir, Odin's enchanted spear, was one of the treasures of Asgard. It had been  
made by the dwarf smith Dvalin, the shaft was carved from a branch of Yggdrasil, the World  
Tree, where the Norns dwelled. The head was made from some kind of mystical dwarf  
metal, which only they have the knowledge of. It's name means "Swaying One" and it  
always hits its mark, no matter how far the target. It will also return to the wielder's hand  
after being thrown. The giants call the spear Far Slayer, and live in dread of it.

Gungnir had been won by me from Dvalin in a game of rune bones, at the same time  
I'd come to bargain for Sif's hair. The dwarf and his brothers, who were sons of the famous  
smith Ivaldi, had just finished making Gungnir, Draupnir the Ring of Increase, and Mjolnir  
when I happened by to pick up the golden wig for Sif. They invited me for a drink and some  
lunch, as is customary with a patron after he's closed a deal with them. Being a polite guest,  
I couldn't decline.

As I ate and drank—though that sparingly, for dwarf ale is terrible stuff (unless  
you're a dwarf)—I couldn't help noticing the beautifully crafted weapons and the ring. They  
were displayed proudly upon velvet mounting plaques on the wall (for the hammer and the  
spear) and a case (for the ring). I recognized immediately that they were magical items of  
a quality unsurpassed by any in all the realms. At first I wasn't really that interested in the  
weapons, since I'm not a warrior, but Draupnir caught my eye. Draupnir is a Ring of  
Increase, meaning that if you know the command word, you can have it make an exact  
replica of itself, which is a solid gold arm ring, worth a great amount of money. You can  
command the ring to replicate itself as many times as you want, and therefore you'll never  
run out of money. Who _wouldn't _want that?

Dvalin noticed where my eyes had strayed and couldn't resist boasting about the  
wonderful items he and his brothers had made. I asked him how much he was willing to part  
with Draupnir for and he said the ring wasn't for sale at any price. Ah, but what about a  
friendly wager? I asked.

Now I knew full well that dwarves are compulsive gamblers. Once they start they  
can't stop. Until they've lost their shirts, and even then they might be persuaded to keep  
playing until they've sold themselves and their families into debt unto the tenth generation.  
That being so, you'd think they'd be wonderful rune bone players, wouldn't you?

But dwarves are terrible at rune bones. They rarely ever have a winning throw. I,  
on the other hand, am extremely lucky at rune bones. The dice love me. I had won much  
of my fortune on the turn of those painted dice. And I didn't even need to cheat much. I  
also knew when to stop playing, and usually managed to walk away from the table with all  
or most of my winnings.

So I suggested a game of rune bones and at first Dvalin shook his head. "I've sworn  
off gambling, Loki. Since last month. I got into too much trouble last time, and my father  
swore if I touched a cup or rune sticks, he'd disown me. Then where would I be? Out in the  
cold, no forge, starving. Nope, I can't risk it."

"Oh, come on, Dvalin. It's just one game. No pressure. You won't even have to bet  
more than a silver piece. Just four throws and then I'll leave." I wheedled.

Dvalin was torn. "What'll you be betting?"

I removed a large amulet from my pocket. "This. Solid gold, with a flawless ruby.  
It's enchanted to make the wearer look irresistible to the opposite sex."

"Huh." He stared at the amulet with undisguised longing. "I've been meaning to get  
me a wife. I could sure use something like that." He tugged his beard, which was long, black  
and curly. He wound it round and round his fingers. "But I promised . . ."

"Very well." I shrugged and took the amulet back. "I just thought as long as I was  
here . . ."

"Wait. Just one game, right?"

"Sure, Dvalin. One game. Winner gets the amulet and the silver piece."

He chewed his beard, his eyes riveted on the amulet. I waited. Sweat trickled down  
his face and I knew I'd won when he threw up his hands and said, "Oh, blessed granite!  
What harm can one game do?"

So we settled down to play one game of rune bones. He won the amulet off of me,  
which in turn whetted his appetite for more. He asked if I wanted to play one more game.

I agreed. We ended up playing all night, and each time he won, he wanted to play another  
game, and I always said yes. By the end of the night, I'd won back many of the items I'd  
wagered and Dvalin was growing desperate. So first he wagered Gungnir against half of my  
pile of enchanted items and lost. I offered him a chance to win it back, and then he wagered  
Mjolnir. He lost that too. Finally he threw in Draupnir, and to his utter horror, I won it too  
on the last toss.

By that time he was very drunk and I decided to call it quits. I left him snoring away  
in a puddle of ale. I wrote him a note, saying it had been fun wagering with him and as a  
consolation prize I left him the amulet and the silver and gold I'd won off him. He was  
going to need them.

Then I crept away from the forge and rode like a demon back to Asgard. I gave the  
spear and the hammer to Odin as a birthday present. He later gave the hammer to Thor as  
a coming of age gift. Draupnir I kept originally, but later gave it to Odin as well when the  
royal treasury had become depleted after one of his wars with Jotunheim. I didn't really  
need it anymore, I had more than enough gold to keep me happy for centuries, and Odin  
promised if I ever needed a loan he would give it to me, no questions asked.

Gungnir became his most prized possession, the spear that never failed, and with it  
he'd won all the major battles of his career against the frost giants of Jotunheim and the fire  
giants of Muspelheim. He also won several victories against the Vanir lords, enough to give  
him the reputation of being invincible while he held Gungnir. That wasn't quite true, of  
course, but it added to his legend, and every good warrior needs to have a reputation to  
terrify his enemies.

The last war we'd had with the Vanir, several centuries back, had been won when  
Odin cast Gungnir at the great Vanir champion Rolf Thunderhand and slew him outright.  
After that the Vanir soldiers lost heart and badgered their king to sue for peace. King  
Gundar agreed, otherwise he'd have had a mutiny on his hands, and we'd had an uneasy  
truce with the Vanir since then. The Vanir knew that as long as we held Gungnir, they'd  
never defeat us in open battle.

Eventually, our enemies became so fearful of Odin's spear that it became known as  
the Spear of War and Death, and as long as it rested in Aesir hands no giant or Vanir would  
dare to make war upon us. Such was the legend of Gungnir.

Odin had long ago put the spear up on the wall of the mead hall, for when the realms  
were at peace he became the Wanderer, and had no need for enchanted weapons. Then he  
relied on his wisdom, wit, and his own magical powers of air and earth. My blood brother  
isn't half-bad as a mage, though even he doesn't come close to matching my power, and  
there is the handicap of his one eye. Even so, few want to tangle with Odin when he's in a  
mood, and he generally has little to fear on those little excursions of his.

Now the Black Spear, as it is sometimes called, had rested in the mead hall of  
Valhalla undisturbed for centuries. No warrior, not even Thor, would dare wield it without  
Odin's permission. At Odin's request, I had also bespelled the entrance to the hall with an  
alarm that would scream loud enough to wake Hel if any thief attempted to take one of the  
treasures past the door. So we reckoned Gungnir was pretty safe and left it in its place of  
honor.

When I received Thor's summons, I wasn't inclined to rush over and see what he  
wanted. For one thing I had Bella to worry about. She was still terribly upset at Leif's  
betrayal and I didn't want to leave her alone. But the servant was insistent and after I'd  
made him wait a whole hour, Bella told me to just go and see what Thor wanted.

"Anything to get him off our back," was how she put it, her eyes still red and puffy  
from weeping.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" I asked tenderly.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to drown myself in the pond or hang myself because  
he took off," she said with a faint smile. Then it faded. "He's not worth committing suicide  
over, the lying scorpion. Go see Thor, Father. I'll be fine. Well, not fine, but . . .you  
needn't hover over me."

"I won't be long," I promised, giving her a hug. "Why don't you have some mint  
tea?"

"All right. I can cry on your shoulder later, if I need to."

I followed the servant, who had a horse waiting outside tied to the hitching post.

Heror was out in the pasture. I whistled him in, then attached the lead rein to his halter for  
a hackamore and swung up on his back. I didn't want to waste time with a saddle, and I  
could ride Heror just as well bareback.

The servant eyed me askance, probably unaware I was an expert rider. "Come along,  
sir. The Regent says he needs to speak to you on a matter of grave importance."

I urged Heror into a canter. Heror's canter was like another horse's gallop, and the  
servant's mount paced us, though not without effort. "Did the Regent say what the matter  
was?"

""No, sir. Only that he wanted to consult with you immediately." He shivered  
suddenly. "He was in an awful temper this morning, though. Shouting and cursing. He  
threw Mjolnir right through a window. But when Wulf asked what was wrong, he wouldn't  
say anything except that he wanted to see you."

Thor having a temper tantrum was nothing new. He usually had one about once a  
week, depending on how drunk he was. I pondered what could have set him off, then  
shrugged. Whatever it was, he'd tell me about it soon enough.

We arrived at Valhalla, and I gave Heror to one of the grooms, instructing him to  
walk him cool and then give him warmed water and a little oats as a reward. I usually didn't  
have to spell out the proper care of a horse, but I didn't recognize this stable boy and I  
wanted to make sure Heror was seen to properly. The last thing I needed was a sick horse.

When I reached Thor's suite, I found the volatile warrior pacing and moaning, he'd  
long since passed the cursing and wrecking stage and had now moved on to the depression  
stage. His straw colored hair was unkempt and his beard reminded me of a bird's nest. His  
tunic was rumpled and smelled of old beer. Not exactly a sight to inspire confidence in a  
ruler.

"My father's gonna kill me this time," he groaned upon seeing me. This too was a  
familiar refrain. I can't count how many times I'd heard it before.

I locked the door and muttered a spell to ensure that no one could listen in on our  
conversation, a necessary precaution, since the servants of Valhalla are gossip mongers  
beyond compare. Then I seated myself in a horsehair stuffed recliner, crossed one boot over  
the other and raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Let's have it. What've you done this time, Thor?"

"I didn't do anything! I didn't even realize it was missing until this morning. But that  
won't matter. Once Father finds out I lost it, he's gonna have my head on a spike."

"What did you lose?"

"Gungnir. You know, Father's magical spear. The Spear of War and Death."

"I know what Gungnir is, Thor. I was the one who gave it to Odin, after all." I  
reminded him. "But I saw it when I came in, up on the wall same as always. So how is it  
missing?"

"See? It fooled you too. Go and have another look at that spear, Loki. Because it's  
not Gungnir. It's only a copy. The real one's been stolen."

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking again?" I snapped.

"I haven't touched a drop this morning," he cried indignantly. "Now go and have a  
look at the damned spear," he growled. "Please," he added, recalling that he needed my help  
and if he wanted to get it he'd better be polite to me.

I decided to humor him. So I went to the hall and examined the spear hanging there.  
On first glance it appeared all was well. But when I drew closer to it, I discovered that it no  
longer radiated the intense aura of strong magic it usually did. I squinted at it, bringing my  
Mage Sight into play.

And Saw that Thor was correct. This wasn't Gungnir, but an ordinary spear cloaked  
in a strong glamour spell. I swore softly. I knew that spell, for I'd cast it myself many times.  
It was one I used as a foil for my thieving activities. Whoever had cast it had been a mage  
of no small caliber, for the spell had very nearly fooled me until I used Mage Sight. It was  
also one I'd taught to Leif not three months ago.

I could still hear his voice, asking me innocently if there was a way to disguise  
objects as well as people. I'd told him the truth and then showed him the spell. I'd played  
right into his hands. I wondered how long he had planned this theft. Months, weeks? Or had  
it been a spur of the moment thing?

One thing puzzled me still. How had he gotten it out of the hall? The alarm on the  
door should have stopped him cold, or at the very least alerted the guards. It was not  
something he would have been able to cancel out, since that level of ward was beyond his  
talent. Only those with a keyword could circumvent the spell.

I went back up the stairs, silently cursing myself for a fool.

Thor was more composed now. He'd managed to comb his hair and beard into a  
semblance of order and changed his clothes. He was also eating breakfast and slurping  
down a gigantic tankard of mead with foam sloshing over the edges.

"Haven't touched a drop all morning, eh?" I snorted, sinking into a chair opposite  
him. I helped myself to an apple and nibbled it.

"I haven't," he insisted, rather like a small boy trying to convince his father he hasn't  
been shirking his lessons to go and play in the woods. "Except for now, of course. It settles  
my nerves."

"Among other things," I said dryly. Normally I wouldn't have missed the  
opportunity to twit him, but I wasn't in the mood after what I'd just discovered. I leaned  
forward, my eyes bright as a hunting hound's, tossing the half-eaten apple on the table.  
"When did you first notice the spear was missing?"

"This morning. I was bored and I started tossing Mjolnir around," he looked faintly  
guilty, again like a schoolboy caught out in some misdeed. Was that how the window broke,  
I wanted to ask, but I kept my mouth shut for once. "The hammer hit the wall near where  
Gungnir was hung and the spear fell down. So I went to pick it up. That was when I noticed  
the difference. It felt . . .wrong. The heft, the weight . . .Gungnir is a war spear, not a  
hunting spear, and a war spear is heavier, and balanced differently. I'd held it before and  
I could tell right away that something wasn't right. But it looked exactly like Gungnir. So  
I decided to test it. The Black Spear never misses, no matter how bad you throw it."

"Tell me you didn't test it in front of the servants, Thor." I groaned.

"Of course not! You think I'm stupid?" I opened my mouth to reply. "Never mind.  
I sent the two who were in the hall to fetch some more wood and then I threw the spear  
across the room, at a chair. Now Gungnir would have slammed right into it, but I could feel  
when I threw it that the balance was off. It missed. That's when I knew it was a fake."

"Then you put it back on the wall and sent for me," I prompted.

"Yeah," he took another drink of mead, wiping the foam from his beard with the  
back of one massive hand. "I knew if anybody could figure out what had happened, you  
could." He leveled a glare my way. "Unless this is one of your damn pranks? Did you take  
it, Loki? Is that why you're so calm about this?"

I was unperturbed by his accusation. I'd been expecting it. That's always been  
Thor's way, to blame another when something goes wrong. "I'm calm because it won't help  
matters to go stomping round screaming and punching holes in walls. That won't help bring  
the Black Spear back any faster. And no, I don't have it. What profit would there be for me  
to take it? Stealing Gungnir is an act of war, and I like peace."

"You could have done it just to make me crazy," he grumbled, eating a sausage.

"I do that just by walking into the same room as you. It wouldn't be worth the  
effort." I reclaimed my half-eaten apple and crunched on it.

"But you know who took it? It was done with magic, even I know that much."

I nodded slowly. "Very likely. But before I tell you who probably has it, I want to  
know how he managed to get it past the ward rune on the door. That shouldn't have been  
possible. Only three people here know how to cancel it, and your father is away and I was  
home last night, consoling my daughter over a broken heart. The only other person who  
knows the word is you, Thor." I folded my arms over my chest, eyeing him sternly. "So  
what happened with the ward?"

He avoided my eyes. "I disabled it," he mumbled into his beard.

"You what?" I pounced on him like a cat on a mouse.

"I had to," he said defensively. "It was driving me nuts. Everytime I left the hall  
with Mjolnir, it went off. It gave me a bloody headache. So I disabled it."

I hit my head with my hand. "Surtur's fiery ass, Thor! All you had to do was touch  
the damn post and it would have recognized you as the rightful holder of Mjolnir and  
stopped. I keyed it to recognise the bearers of the hammer, spear, and ring. You think Odin  
disables the ward every time he leaves Valhalla with Draupnir?"

"Oh. I forgot," he muttered sheepishly.

I muttered several swear words under my breath. Odin, how could you leave such  
a brainless idiot in charge of Asgard? "I see. You forgot. Just like you forgot to reset it that  
night, correct?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know somebody would come along and take Gungnir  
right off the wall in broad daylight? Nobody's supposed to touch the thing!"

"Nobody's supposed to cheat on his wife either, and it's done all the time," I flared.  
"Why do you think we put the ward there in the first place? To prevent this from happening.  
For centuries it's been safe from any Vanir thief or magician, until you come along!"

"But you know who took it. So you can go and get it back."

"It's not that easy, Thor. He could be halfway to Vanaheim by now."

"The thief was Vanir?"

"Yes. My former apprentice, Leif Malasteinsson," I admitted, wincing.

"Your _apprentice_?" Thor repeated. "Is that the same skinny Vanir snot I walloped  
all those months ago? The one you bought from me the next day?"

"The same."

"I knew he couldn't be trusted, the sneaking little weasel. And _you_ felt sorry for  
him! I should have beaten him to death, then we wouldn't be in this mess. And you taught  
him the magic he needed to pull it off."

"Which wouldn't have been possible in the first place if you hadn't taken down the  
ward," I snarled, glaring at him. "I came looking for him yesterday and he'd never have  
gotten away with it if the ward had still been active."

"You knew he'd taken Gungnir yesterday?"

"No! I came looking for him because he promised to marry my daughter and instead  
he pulled a fast one and took off. With the spear and Bella's heart, the damned scoundrel!"

"You were going to let your daughter marry a Vanir bondslave?" Now Thor was  
looking at me as if I'd gone mad.

"He wasn't a slave, he was my apprentice. And she was in love with him."

"What does that matter? He's a _Vanir_."

"You say that like it's a disease. He made her happy and she thought he loved her.  
But it was all a lie. He used her to get close to me, learn what he needed, and then he used  
my teachings to steal Gungnir."

"Ha! I was right. This really _is_ your fault."

"Oh, shut up!" I snarled. "Who cares whose fault it is? We both screwed up and  
now we pay the price. We have to get that spear back. You know what will happen if we  
don't."

"Yeah. The Vanir will destroy Asgard."

"Not just Asgard. Gungnir unchecked could destroy everything. Whoever wields  
it can bring war and death to all the realms, creating chaos wherever he goes."

"But you can get it back. All you have to do is find where the little bastard is holed  
up and steal it back."

"_All_ I have to do?" I gave a mirthless chuckle. "Thor, do you know how hard it is  
to find a magician thief who doesn't want to be found? He could be anywhere by now. And  
he might not even have Gungnir with him. A smart thief, which he is, would have hidden  
the spear somewhere."

"But you said he was in Vanaheim."

"Norns give me patience! I said he _might_ be in Vanaheim. He's probably not,  
considering that would be the first place we'd look." I steepled my fingers together.  
"However, there's something about Gungnir he wouldn't know. He can't mask the spear's  
aura forever, not even with magic. It's too strong."

"All this talk of magic is making my head hurt."

"It wouldn't if you stopped swilling mead," I said acidly. "Getting drunk won't help  
anything."

"Neither will staying sober. This is your fault, Loki. It was your apprentice who  
stole the blasted thing using magic, so now you can figure out how to get it back. Before my  
father finds out and kills me."

"And what will you be doing in the meantime, you oaf? Sitting here twiddling your  
thumbs? Finishing off the rest of the mead in the cellar?"

"No. I'll be preparing for war." Thor said evenly. "Because if you don't recover that  
spear, the Vanir will march on us. Probably allied with Surtur and his fire giants, since they  
hate us more than almost anyone except King Gundar. If that happens we have to be ready  
to defend ourselves. We might not be able to win, but at least we'll take some of them down  
with us."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"It won't if you can find the spear. You're the best hope we've got. Send a magician  
to find a magician. And a thief to catch a thief."

I did a quick mental calculation in my head. "It's been at least a day, possibly closer  
to two, since Gungnir was taken. Which means the spell cloaking it will have started to  
wear off by now. I should be able to pinpoint at least the general direction it's in, and the  
realm it's been brought to. Have a servant fetch me a silver bowl filled with clear water,"  
I ordered.

Thor obeyed, and soon the servant returned with what I'd asked for. Seeing magic  
isn't my forte, but I was reasonably good at it. And Gungnir's aura was so powerful that  
even an apprentice would be able to See it without too much trouble.

"Keep quiet. I need to concentrate," I said sharply when Thor would have asked me  
something.

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out softly. Meditation is essential for Seeing  
magic, especially for those without a strong Talent. I slowly counted out breaths, with each  
one sinking deeper into that half-aware realm of spirit. Then I opened my eyes and breathed  
upon the water. One breath. Then another. On the third breath the water misted, as if  
covered by frost.

"Show me Gungnir, the Black Spear," I intoned.

The misty water swirled, dancing with reflected motes of light and power.

I leaned over. The mists parted and I Saw the aura of the spear. It pulsed like a  
falling star, shredding the last wisps of the glamour even as I watched. "Where are you?"

The water grew clear and I saw the place where the spear now was. Inside of a chest,  
in the back of a wagon. I narrowed my focus. It was a brightly painted wagon, reminding  
me vaguely of the caravans of Alfheim, the elven realm that bordered Asgard. Could Leif  
have taken it there?

Then the scene in the bowl changed and I Saw the tall waving grasses and blazing  
vault of the sky that the wagon traveled through. It was one of many, all bearing the same  
flamboyant coloring and the same lettering. Turner's Travelling Circus! was proclaimed  
in bold yellow paint embellished with gold and blue splashes at the end of each letter.

I knew then that Gungnir was not in Alfheim. No elf was ever called Turner, and  
they did not have circuses there.

Abruptly the vision vanished and I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The water in the bowl  
was clear now, all the way to the bottom of the silver bowl.

"Well? Did you find it?"

"Yes. I can track it now by the feel of its aura. Though I don't know how in hell he  
managed to put it there."

"Where?"

"Midgard. Somehow he crossed Bifrost and hid the spear in Midgard."

"But—but Heimdall guards Bifrost." Thor sputtered. "Nothing gets past him. He  
can hear a pin drop twenty miles away. He's got the eyes of a hawk too."

"Regardless, Gungnir is in Midgard. And since spears can't grow feet and walk  
there, that means Leif put it there. And to do that he had to cross the Rainbow Bridge.  
Which means he slipped past Heimdall the Ever-Alert." I pointed out waspishly.

"How?"

"How in hell should I know? Do I look like Mimir of the Well? Why don't you pay  
your brother a visit and ask him? Maybe he took a nap while on duty."

Heimdall is another of Odin's sons, one of the middle ones. We don't like each  
other. He thinks I'm too flippant and don't respect the nobles of Valhalla properly and he  
doesn't like the fact that I'm a thief. I think he's an uptight young snot who struts about like  
he's got a stick up his ass and I once stole his hunting horn right off his belt at a feast. This  
was right after he'd bragged to everyone that nothing escaped his keen eyes and ears.

"Lose something, Heimdall?" I asked, and handed him back his hunting horn.

He shot me a glare that should have killed me and went red with humiliation and  
temper. It's never wise to brag like that in front of a master thief. I take it as a challenge  
and nothing pleases me more than puncturing the inflated pride of some young warrior.  
"Father should have all your fingers cut off!" he'd spat, hooking the horn back on his  
belt. "Why he permits a baseborn thief to sit at the same table as the rest of us is beyond  
me."

"Maybe to keep mouthy young hotheads like you humble," I shot back.

"I'm leaving. Being in the same room with a criminal just ruined my appetite," he  
declared haughtily, then rose to his feet and stalked out of the hall.

"Poor kid!" I called after him. "Why doesn't he go home and cry about it?" The rest  
of the hall erupted in laughter. "Oh, well. No sense in letting good food go to waste," I said,  
then I pulled his portion over and ate it as well as my own. I never pass up free food.

Besides after that crack about cutting off my fingers, he deserved to go hungry.

Thor cleared his throat, bringing me back from my musing with a start. "I'll speak  
to Heimdall, see if he remembers letting a Vanir boy past him. Meanwhile, you'd better  
start packing, magician. Looks like you're going down to Midgard."

"No, really? I thought I was going to hell," I muttered sarcastically. "You let  
Heimdall know I'll be crossing Bifrost in a day or so. I don't want him to give me any grief  
about passes and all that crap."

"I'll tell him to allow you and anyone in your household passage to and from  
Midgard." Thor promised. "And may the Norns grant us victory."

Normally I don't put much stock in prayers, but I figured this one couldn't hurt. We  
needed all the help we could get.

When I returned home, I expected to find Bella still crying into her pillow over her  
unfaithful suitor. Instead my daughter was busy sewing a tear in her good sealskin cloak and  
applying a coat of grease to her boots. "Going somewhere?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact I am." She answered, tying off another stitch. "I'm going to hunt  
down that lying snake and make him tell me to my face the reason why he left me. If he  
thinks he can just up and leave like a thief in the night, and I'm just going to take it lying  
down, he'd better think again!"

"You don't even know where he is."

"So what? I'll find him. I was always better than he was at tracking."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," I quoted softly.

"Yeah. Exactly like that. By the time I'm done with him, he'll know hell's fury all  
right."

I knew there was no persuading her otherwise, so I didn't even bother to try. Instead  
I rummaged through a chest of travel gear, pulling out my boots and a chambray shirt and  
denim breeches such as the men of Midgard wear in that region known as the Old West.

"Here," I tossed the shirt at her. It had a rip in the side of it, legacy of a steer's horn. "If you  
wouldn't mind, I need you to fix that. I'll need that shirt where I'm going. Where we're  
going, I should say."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the object of your quest and mine are in the same place, darling daughter.  
Across the Rainbow Bridge. In Midgard." Then I told her about the theft of Gungnir and my  
quest to retrieve it.

"He stole Gungnir!" she repeated in horror. "But that's an act of war. I'll bet that  
was the real reason he was here, the rotten spy. And all the time he was wooing me he was  
making plans on how to steal the spear. That's two black eyes I owe him now. Among other  
things."

"While you're dreaming of beating the spit out of your betrothed, you'd better think  
about getting Ava to help make you some clothes for Midgard. We don't want to stand out."

"How am I going to make a new wardrobe in two days?"

"We're not leaving in two days."

"But you told Thor you were going down in two days."

"I lied. We need time to prepare for this trip. It's not like taking a walk in the park.  
We can't let anyone know we're immortal magicians. Or half-immortal in your case," I  
amended. "And we can't use magic to disguise ourselves all the time. We're going to need  
all our energy to find Gungnir and Leif."

"Do you know where it is?"

"I've got a rough idea. But I need to plan a cover story before we go down there."

"But can't we just, I don't know, teleport to where Gungnir is and steal it back?"

"This isn't a fairy tale, Bella. I need to know an exact location before I can teleport  
to it. And the last time I saw Gungnir, it was in the back of a circus wagon heading west into  
the prairie. And something tells me whoever holds the spear isn't just going to hand it over  
to me."

"But doesn't Leif have it?"

"I don't know. This could be a decoy. But we won't know until we get there."

"I've always wanted to go to Midgard. Now I can finally practice all those languages  
you stuffed into my head when I was a child. What do they speak where we're going?"

"American English. Nothing fancy, like French." I answered. "Now keep sewing.  
I need to think about new identities for us. Something sufficiently flashy for show business  
is what I need."

"Show business? Why?"

"Because once we get across Bifrost, we're going to do what every child of Midgard  
dreams about doing. We're going to run away and join the circus."


	13. Westward Ho!

**Westward Ho!**

﻿Heimdall was a bit miffed at me because we were a week and a half later than he'd  
been told to expect us. But he got over his snit quick enough when I reminded him that the  
longer he kept us here complaining the longer the artifact I'd been sent to fetch remained  
missing. I knew Thor had told him of our mission. I hoped he hadn't told anyone else, for  
despite his arrogant nature, Heimdall knows how to keep his mouth shut. The same couldn't  
be said of the rest of the lords. Once I'd pointed that out, Heimdall waved us through the  
archway and onto the Rainbow Bridge.

Bella and I were now dressed in Midgard clothing—denim trousers, long-sleeved  
shirts, hats, and boots. My shirt was a checked blue and red and hers was a soft yellow. I  
wore a long knife at my belt and Bella had one tucked in her boot. She had braided and tied  
her moonglow hair back beneath her hat, though that style only served to accentuate her  
delicate cheekbones and large eyes.

I knew most men would take one glance at her and assume she was a delicate little  
flower, one who needed a big strong man around to protect her. They'd be dead wrong, of  
course. Bella could take care of herself, and not just with magic either. Baldur had given  
her and Hilda lessons in knife-fighting and unarmed combat, enough so they could take  
down a man, especially if the man were caught off guard. I'd seen her throw Baldur once  
during a spar, and he was no novice warrior.

This was just as well, since finding Gungnir was going to take most of my  
concentration and I'd have little to spare trying to protect a helpless female.

I'd cut my hair short to my ears, since long hair was no longer in style where we'd  
be going. I thought about growing a mustache to further my disguise, but decided against  
it. Facial hair tends to look skimpy on me and it itches. Better to go clean-shaven. I did use  
magic to add a few more lines about my face and eyes to give the illusion of age. Without  
that I'd look like a fresh-faced youngster of twenty-one or so, much too young to be taken  
seriously for the role I intended to play and certainly not old enough to have a daughter  
Bella's age! I altered my appearance just enough to pass for thirty-seven or thereabouts and  
left it at that.

We rode quickly across the marble span of Bifrost. The bridge wasn't made from  
a rainbow or anything like it, the way you'd think from its name. It had gotten its name  
because when one activated the portal at the opposite side, it threw off waves of rainbowed  
light which washed over the bridge and made it seem as if rainbows were dancing on it.

Heror and Flicker were both in high spirits, skipping across the bridge with their tails  
flagged and manes tossing. Both had a craving for excitement and adventure and were more  
than ready to leave their tame pasture and see somewhere new. Heror had been to Midgard  
before, as a matter of fact he'd been born there and lived as the pampered pet of a Sultan  
until he'd caught my eye and I stole him away.

Actually, he asked to come with me, for he'd been growing bored as the showpiece  
of a rich man, no matter how well they treated him. Neither of us had ever regretted it, since  
he was the offspring of an immortal stallion, and he could never reveal his true nature to the  
mortals who tended him. They'd have thought he was possessed by demons if he'd spoken  
to them and probably have killed him. Being the mount of an immortal magician was  
infinitely preferable to being burnt or going mad from boredom.

Flicker, like her mistress, had never been anywhere except Asgard, and she wanted  
to feel the wind across the plains and taste the sweet grasses on the prairie. Heror and I had  
visited the western territories some twenty years back and he'd told her all the stories about  
hunting buffalo with the Indians and roping wild steers and fighting off coyotes and cougars.  
There was something about that wild untamed stretch of land that appealed to me immensely  
and I was not sorry to be going back to see it again.

I'd outfitted the horses with classic Western saddles and tack, though the bridles  
were outfitted with false bits, since neither horse needed human hands to guide them. I'd  
pick up a packhorse once we got to Midgard, to facilitate our disguise as a stage magician  
and his assistant.

It took us barely six minutes to cross the Bifrost and once we stood in front of the  
arching gateway, I spoke a word of command and bid the portal to take us to Midgard, in  
America, to the plains of South Dakota. The portal shimmered and blazed with coruscating  
waves of rainbowed light. Heror and Flicker snorted, but I set my boots to his flanks and he  
sprang through the portal. Bella followed suit.

For a half a minute I was surrounded by rainbow light and I had a sense of being  
flung forward at an incredible speed. Then the gate spit us out in the middle of the golden  
prairie of the Dakotas, vanishing in a twinkling once we were safely at our destination.

Bella blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the prismatic effect of the gate  
from her vision.

"Close your eyes for about two seconds," I advised softly. "That'll get rid of the  
flash image quicker." I did as I had said and when I opened my eyes again I could see  
normally again.

The prairie was lush and green, for it was high summer, and I could see the gold and  
green grass speckled with wild flowers. The sky was a bright blue without clouds and it  
seemed to stretch forever as far as the eye could see. It was quiet, there were no animals or  
birds about at the moment, they'd probably been scared off by the gate aura.

I took a moment to focus my awareness on Gungnir's aura, and found it was  
somewhere west of where we were, probably no more than fifty miles away. One good thing  
about Midgard was that Gungnir's aura shone like a beacon, since it was probably the only  
magical artifact of its kind around here. Mortals as a rule didn't practice magic much, and  
the true magicians were few and far between. Oh, I'd met a few Indian shamans who  
actually possessed Talent, but those with true Gifts were rare. Many who claimed to be  
practitioners of the mystic were actually con artists or had minor Talent. Humans distrusted  
those who had magic and had hunted down those who possessed it centuries ago, killing  
them out of fear and hate, which was why so few magicians of great power remained on  
earth.

It made my task easier in that respect, since I didn't need to worry about a rival trying  
to snatch Gungnir, but I also had to be damn careful that nobody learned that our magic act  
was real and not just sleight of hand. That was why I needed the packhorse, to put the fake  
props on.

"Now what?" My daughter asked. "Do you know where it is?"

"That way," I indicated the direction with a finger. "We'll follow it west for today  
and make camp tonight out here. Tomorrow we'll see if I can find a town. I need to get a  
few supplies and a mule or a packhorse. Then we can go about catching up to the circus  
wagons."

"Does anyone live out here?"

"No. Well, there maybe some Indian tribes around, but they migrate, so this country  
is still pretty wild. There are maybe one or two settlements, but not many people like to  
come so far from civilization." I shot her a grin. "Which means we can have a good gallop  
without worrying about shocking some poor mortal to death at how fast our horses can run."

"You're on!" she laughed, then slapped her hand on Flicker's shoulder. The black  
mare threw up her head and trumpeted a challenge. "Catch me if you can, Father!"

Then they were away like a streak of black flame.

"C'mon, Heror! Let's show those two who's really the fastest horse in Midgard!"

"With pleasure, magician!" the stallion whistled, then he gathered himself and shot  
after them like a comet.

My hat blew off my head, lucky it had a string attached so I didn't lose it. I leaned  
over Heror's withers, with most of my weight there, he could run quicker and his mane blew  
back into my face, bringing tears to my eyes.

Bella was a few lengths ahead, but we soon caught up and we raced neck and neck  
across the prairie, laughing like idiots, the only sounds in our ears were the pounding of the  
horse's hooves and the wind whistling past us.

It had been years since I'd allowed myself to enjoy a gallop like this, I'd forgotten  
the sheer rush of having two tons of horseflesh beneath you running like a tornado, joyful  
and free as nature had intended. Heror's immortal heritage made him three times as fast as  
an ordinary horse, and as surefooted as a mountain goat. I never needed to worry about him  
putting a foot wrong and injuring himself, all I had to do was stay on his back and enjoy the  
ride.

We rode at that pace for some ten minutes, then we slowed and cantered for about  
three hours. Gungnir was a burning ache in the back of my head, I kept Heror turned ever  
westward, following it.

Bella was grinning as she drew alongside me, her cheeks flushed with color from the  
wind. Small tendrils of hair had escaped from her braid and blew about her face. It gave  
her a pixyish appearance that I found charming. She took a drink from her waterskin, for  
the dust on the prairie dried your throat like nothing else except maybe the lava fields of  
Muspelheim.

We rode on in companionable silence for the better part of the day, drinking in the  
serene vista of the prairie. We caught glimpses of jackrabbits bounding through the grass,  
prairie hens scuttling for seeds, a solitary red-tail hawk circling, and the soft yip of a fox  
hunting. Once we saw the tracks of a mule deer and the huge cloven print of a bison, but we  
saw no sign of large game.

Bella examined everything with eager eyes, absorbing the land about her with  
delight, using both physical and magical senses. When she'd had her fill of that, I ventured  
to tell her something of the ecosystem we wandered through. I told her about the different  
kinds of plants and animals that lived here, I spoke of the weather—the storms and  
tornadoes that could spring up without warning, and the nomadic tribes who made their  
homes here before the white men lay claim to the land.

Bella listened closely as I told her of the wars that had been fought between the  
Indians and the ever-encroaching stream of white men. Years of prejudice and hate lay  
buried here, as one people fought to keep what was theirs and another fought to take it away.  
Last time I had been here, the embers of war had been stirred, but had not flared into a  
bonfire. Now, though, I feared otherwise. And if Gungnir was here, the tide of war and  
death would increase, for such was the nature of the spear.

"Do you mean to say that Gungnir causes wars by its mere presence?" Bella queried.  
"But it didn't do that at home."

"That's because its influence was checked by Odin and my ward spell," I told her.  
"But now it's been set free and the aura it radiates down here is so strong it could cause a  
war in a heartbeat. Especially since mortals have no defenses against the spear's influence.  
They are all too ready to fight each other over this land, over the color of someone's skin,  
over most anything at all. That is why we must get the spear back as quickly as possible.  
The last thing this country needs is more war."

"Why would Leif bring the spear here? Why not just take it directly to Vanaheim?"

"My guess is he was trying to throw us off his trail. Maybe he was trying to buy  
himself some time. But we can speculate till we're blue in the face and never figure out the  
real reason. All that matters is getting Gungnir back where it belongs."

"Do you think Leif is here somewhere?"

I shrugged. "It's possible. We'll know when we find the spear." I slowed Heror to  
a walk and dismounted. "Time to stretch our legs a bit. Before you start to get too sore."  
I grimaced slightly, for I wasn't used to riding so many hours, but my stiffness soon eased  
after I walked for about twenty minutes.

Bella copied me, walking Flicker, one hand caressing her mare's neck. "Is there a  
stream or something around here? The horses could use a drink."

"I'm not sure. Why don't you shift into hawk form and see?" That was the quickest  
way to scout unknown terrain.

"Okay." She handed me Flicker's reins and then she blurred into a red-tailed hawk  
and took off into the azure sky.

She returned some ten minutes later saying there was a decent creek about three  
miles northwest. We mounted up again and this time I followed her lead.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the creek and both horses and magicians  
were tired. After we'd watered and groomed them, we let them graze freely. Then I started  
a fire and set about cooking pancakes and bacon, which is the easiest thing to cook over a  
fire. Bella was down at the stream, scrubbing the last of the dust off of her face and hands.

When the food was done, I slid it onto our tin mess kits and we devoured it. I  
drowned mine in golden brown maple syrup, and washed it down with ice cold water from  
the stream.

"Mmmm." Bella groaned appreciatively as she ate the last pancake with syrup.  
"These are great. Teach me how to make them?"

"Sure. I'll show you tomorrow. They're considered a staple out here. Along with  
beans and cornbread. An old cowhand showed me how to make them last time I was here,  
during a roundup. That's when a bunch of ranchers gather up all their cattle that have been  
roaming the range and take them to market to sell," I explained at her quizzical look.

"How long ago was that?"

"In Asgard time, about twenty years. By Midgard time, I think we're talking about  
seventy years or so, near as I can figure it. I think a lot more white men have settled here  
since then and that's caused a lot more problems between them and the Indians who lived  
here first."

"Why can't the whites and Indians get along and live peacefully?"

"Question of the century, Bella. You might as well ask why the Aesir and Vanir  
can't do the same. All I can say is that old hatreds and insults die hard."

"Why do the Aesir and Vanir hate each other? It seems so pointless. We're both  
immortal races, similar in appearance and customs, so why should we fight each other?"

"I don't know what started the blood feud between us and the Vanir. It was probably  
something stupid, like a misunderstanding over a marriage contract, or a duel, or maybe  
some idiot shot his mouth off at a feast and the person he insulted wasn't willing to let it go.  
It's been going on so long now no one really remembers what started it. But a lot of it has  
to do with attitudes. The Vanir are more class conscious than us, they think everyone needs  
to marry within their station, and what you were born matters more than what you do with  
your life. The Aesir are mostly warriors, they believe in settling things with fists instead of  
words, and they also don't care for the Vanir caste system much. The Vanir regard us as  
barbarians because of it, and in turn we regard them as prissy arrogant snobs. Vanir magic  
is stronger than the Aesir variety, and most Vanir are usually educated better, because they  
believe your mind is as important as your body. They look down on the Aesir, since most  
Aesir only learn the basics, reading, writing, and arithmetic. A soldier or a farmer doesn't  
need much more than that to get by."

"And the Aesir look down on the Vanir, saying their answer to everything is a money  
and a contract. They think all the Vanir are tricky thieves out to cheat honest Aesir." Bella  
recalled. "But surely someone would have realized by now that not all Vanir are the same,  
just as not all Aesir are the same."

"Some do, to be sure. But most find it easier to blame the Vanir for whatever goes  
wrong and vice versa. It's a vicious cycle, one that's become almost impossible to break.  
Much like what's going on here. The Indians were here for thousands of years before the  
English and French settlers ever came to these shores. They lived with the land, as hunters  
and gatherers. They fought each other too, but for the most part those quarrels didn't last  
long, and no one tribe attempted to totally slaughter another. That concept was something  
that the whites brought with them. When the first white men came here, many of the Indian  
tribes welcomed them as friends and allies. They shared their food and tents with them and  
showed the whites how to live here by hunting the great buffalo and gathering the plants  
native to this area. At first, the whites were grateful and many of them took Indian wives  
and lived peacefully with their Indian relatives. The Indians have a custom of adoption,  
once a man or a woman or a child is adopted by an Indian family, they are considered full  
members of that tribe, no matter what they were born."

"I like that custom," Bella said, smiling. "That's what you did with me."

I nodded. "Yes. I learned here something that no Aesir or Vanir understands. Blood  
alone doesn't determine a relationship. Love does. Among the Dakota and the Cheyenne,  
a child is loved for himself or herself, not because he was born to a chief. And the adopted  
children are loved equally with those born to the tribe. They don't favor full-bloods over  
adopted members or even half-bloods. Once the adoption ceremony is complete, you belong  
forever to that people, even if you have pale skin and blue eyes. That's something that for  
all our long lives our people still haven't grasped. You've seen it in the way they treat me  
and yourself for that matter."

Bella shook her head sadly. "But surely if mortals have figured this out, why can't  
we?"

"Because tolerance for others is hard and hatred is easy. And I hate to say it, but  
most immortals prefer the easy way. So do most humans. It's far easier to point out  
differences than recognise similarities. Humans have always feared the different. The white  
men who came later had no tolerance for beliefs other than their own, and no respect for the  
Indians' customs and religion. They called them savages and sought to make them conform  
to white customs and religion, because their way was better. They also wanted the rich land  
the Indians had, land which they would have willing shared with the whites. But the settlers  
were greedy and spoiled. They didn't want half the land, they wanted it all. And they were  
willing to murder and destroy to get it."

"To the victor go the spoils," Bella quoted softly.

"Yes. And the whites were more numerous and better armed than their Indian  
counterparts. They also brought diseases into this land that the Indians had no defense  
against, and wiped out whole tribes with plagues and epidemics. It's a losing battle for the  
Indian, I'm afraid. Soon those tribes who are free will either have to surrender to the white  
customs or be destroyed."

"That is so unfair. Can't something be done about it?"

"Such as? Those in charge of the government sent their troops in to remove the  
Indians to other locations, forcibly if necessary. There are advocates for peaceful  
reconciliation on both sides, but not enough to make a difference."

"You're a magician and so am I," Bella began. "What if we, uh, used our magic  
to bring peace?"

"And how would we do that? Neither of us is powerful enough to alter the minds of  
every person who hates Indians or vice versa. You can't banish hatred with magic, child.  
Believe me, it's been tried. Tolerance must come from within or it won't last. Besides what  
you're suggesting is unethical, even with the best of motives. We don't have the right to  
impose our beliefs on anyone, no matter how wrong they seem. Altering someone's mind  
with magic is wrong. Free choice and free thought is the prerogative of all thinking beings.  
Take that away and you're no better than a tyrant. Immortals meddled that way with humans  
ages ago, child, and caused more problems than they solved. I refuse to follow that path  
again, even with the best of intentions." I sighed. "I feel sorry for those caught up in this  
nasty conflict, but I didn't come down here to take sides in a mortal quarrel. I came for one  
thing, and one thing only. To retrieve Odin's spear before it makes this situation worse. If  
the humans are determined to have a war, Bella, than a war they will have, and not all of my  
magic can prevent that."

"But how can you know unless you try to stop it?" she persisted.

I shook my head. "Experience, child. When I was your age I thought the same way  
you did. I thought I could use my magic to change the world. But I'm only one person and  
it takes more power than I possess to alter the feelings of an entire race of people. They  
have to want to change, or else the magic won't hold beyond a single generation, if that. I  
wish it were otherwise, but it isn't. Magic is not a cure-all for the world's ills. The most  
you can do is be an example to others of tolerance and acceptance, and hope it's enough.  
Nothing is ever easy, child."

"You don't need to tell me that, Father." She said with a faintly bitter tone. "After  
what Leif did . . .do you think he ever really loved me? Or was it just an act? Once I would  
never have needed to ask that, I thought I knew his heart. How could I have been so  
wrong?"

I reached out a hand to clasp her shoulder. "Maybe you weren't all that wrong. I  
think a part of him did love you, and probably still does. But I think it was something that  
he never intended to happen. You heard what he said—he had always known his marriage  
was to be arranged. Falling in love with you was the last thing he ever wanted."

"But it happened. And I guess he was too scared to face it, so he left. But why did  
he take Gungnir?"

"Perhaps his father had ordered him to. Or maybe he thought it would smooth things  
over with his family when he came home if he brought the spear with him. I don't know.  
Maybe if we find him, you can ask him."

"If I can even trust what he says after this."

"As to that, all I can say is, trust your instincts."

"I did and look where it got me."

"The fault was his, not yours. He chose to turn his back on what you had."

"I know. What I don't understand is why. If I knew that, maybe I could understand  
. . ." she shook her head angrily. "Damn him! I can't even hate him . . .because I know what  
kind of crazy family he came from. His father treated his kids like pawns on a chessboard,  
they were moved according to his wishes, and they had no free will of their own. Leif told  
me that when he was small he used to think his father was lord of the universe, and even  
when he grew older, a part of him still felt that way. I guess it was too much to expect him  
to defy his father for love."

"Not so, Bella. Children have defied parents for love before. Look at Romeo and  
Juliet. Or Cupid and Psyche. If your love and will is strong enough, there is no reason why  
the two of you can't live happily ever after."

"What are you saying? That I should give him a second chance? If it were you, would  
you do it?"

I glanced away. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I've never loved a woman  
the way you loved Leif. If you think you can forgive him, if you think he deserves another  
chance, then go for it. But don't spend the rest of your life thinking you did something to  
make him leave, sweetheart. He's not worth tormenting yourself like that. When we find  
him, talk to him, and see if he'll give you an answer to that question you asked me. If he  
won't or you don't like his answer, then walk away and to hell with him. Because he doesn't  
deserve you. And somewhere out there is another man who'll appreciate you for all that you  
are."

"Is that why you've never married? Because you haven't found the right one?"

I nodded. "After so many centuries, I'm not sure I ever will. But that's all right.  
I have you and I'm content. I don't need to gamble my heart away for love."

"Who knows? Maybe this time love will find you."

I chuckled. "Maybe. But I won't hold my breath." I shifted on the hard ground,  
yawning. "Time for bed. I want to get an early start tomorrow."

She bid me goodnight then, kissing me on the cheek as usual. I banked the fire,  
making sure it would burn till dawn, and keep away any predators. Then I curled up in my  
bedroll and slept, though my sleep was broken by ugly dreams of Gungnir dripping blood  
and scores of dead bodies on the ground. I woke sweating and it was a long time before I  
could get back to sleep.


	14. Pride & Prejudice

**Pride & Prejudice**

﻿We reached the town about mid-morning. It was called, aptly, Last Chance, probably because it was the last chance people traveling further west had to stock up onessentials before heading out into the wilderness. It was like most frontier towns of its kind,built haphazardly about a central square containing the essential mercantile, blacksmith, andsaloon. There was a small boardinghouse for people who needed to put up for a night or  
two, a saddler and tanner and several clapboard houses. The main street of the town was a  
dirt track, rutted from countless wagon wheels and horses hooves. There was a long  
boardwalk in front of the stores and businesses, so people didn't need to walk in the muck  
of the road, which stank from the dung of horses and other animals and people throwing  
chamberpot contents in the ditch that ran alongside of it.

Bella wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. "Does it always smell so terrible?"  
she hissed in an undertone, coughing behind her hand.

In addition to the ripe smell of animal dung, there was also the odor of horses, cattle, smoke from the smithy and the familiar tang of beer and whiskey from the saloon.

"Take a few quick breaths. Your nose will grow accustomed to this soon enough,"  
I advised, and sucked in a breath.

"How do they stand it here?"

"They're used to it. Cleanliness isn't a requirement out here on the frontier, I'm  
afraid."

"In that case, I'm glad we're not staying." Bella sniffed. "I much prefer traveling on  
the prairie. It smells worse than a pig sty here."

"But not as bad as Valhalla after one of Thor's banquets," I quipped, and drew a soft  
chuckle from her. "Look. Why don't you go into the mercantile over there and see what  
they've got in the way of sugar and flour and cornmeal. I'll go over to the livery just down  
the way and see about purchasing a sturdy packhorse or a mule."

"All right." Her eyes lit up, as I'd known they would. Mention shopping to a woman  
and they're in heaven. She held out her hand and I gave her a handful of coins. I had no fear  
of the storekeeper cheating her. No one bargains like an Asgardian lady, and she'd learned  
from the best, my former girlfriend, Sigyn.  
"I'll meet you in the mercantile when I'm done. I won't be long."

"Don't let those horse traders cheat you, Father."

I snorted. "Girl, the day hasn't come when a horse trader can get the better of me.  
I invented the damn game," I hissed softly in her ear. Then I led Heror and Flicker down the  
street towards the livery stable, whose painted sign of a horse was blowing gently in the  
wind. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Bella push open the door of the dry goods  
mercantile and enter.

I only hoped the storekeeper wouldn't give her a hard time because she was a woman  
unescorted and dressed in casual attire. Then I shrugged. If he tried anything, he'd soon  
regret it. Bella could cut a man down to size with one scorching glance from her jade eyes.

I clucked gently to the horses and tied them outside the hitching post. "Watch the  
saddlebags, okay?" I whispered into Heror's ear.

The big stallion nodded, flicking an ear. "Don't worry, Loki," he nickered softly.  
"Any light fingers comes prowling around me looking for easy pickings is going to get my  
hoof right between his shifty eyes."

"Right on, Pa!" snorted Flicker. "We'll stomp his skinny ass good."

I glanced warily around, but no one paid any attention to our little exchange.

"Thanks." I muttered, giving them a fond pat on the neck.

Then I went around the back of the livery where the stock pens were. I knew that  
was where they kept the horses and mules for sale. The corral was filled with a mixture of  
mustangs and Indian ponies and a few long-eared brown mules. Most of the horses appeared  
to be in good shape, if a bit dusty and unkempt. I guessed they didn't have enough help to  
groom each animal regularly. Still, none of them looked sick, and none of them were  
starving, though a few were a bit on the skinny side.

"Help you with something, mister?"

I turned to see a tall man with a drooping mustache and a large Spanish style hat  
coming towards me from the back of the barn. He was wearing jeans and a black shirt  
studded with silver conchos and a big silver belt as well. A small revolver was holstered on  
the side, and I recalled the unwritten code of the West, that few men went unarmed out here.  
I didn't have a gun, though I knew how to handle one, because I hated the damn things.  
They were deadlier than a sword and I hated the feel of one in my hand, it reeked of death  
and destruction worse than the Black Spear, and worse it tended to malfunction near me  
because of my magical aura. Guns and magic didn't mix at all and it was in everyone's best  
interest if I wasn't carrying one. Less chance of getting blown up that way.

"You can. I'm looking to buy a good packhorse." I said, and hooked my thumbs  
casually in my belt.

"Going further out, stranger?" he asked curiously. "Not much out here cept  
tumbleweeds, buffalo, and Injuns. Though the army's got orders to relocate them as are still  
here come the spring."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

"Cause they's Injuns," he said, as if that explained everything. "Thieving, dirty, no-  
good redskins. The sooner they's gone the better, I say. Can't have their sort mingling with  
decent folk like."

I said nothing, biting back my instinctive retort that if there were such a thing as  
"decent folk" they should welcome their fellow man with open arms. "Uh, well, I'm sure  
they won't be where I'm going. Do you know if a circus train passed near here anytime in  
the last few days or weeks? Because I'm due to meet it. That's why I need a good  
packhorse."

He stared at me in astonishment. "Yeah, there was a small one that just come  
through bout a week ago. Had themselves a bunch of fancy wagons and a lion and a white  
tiger and some monkeys and a fine looking bunch of trick horses too. Turner something or  
other they was called. What you want with that lot for? You don't look like much of a  
showman."

"Looks can be deceiving," I laughed, then made a motion with my hand and a dollar  
coin appeared between my fingers. This wasn't true magic, but sleight-of-hand, such as any  
street performer used. I wouldn't waste my Talent on this country rube, not when I could  
use simple parlor tricks. I was a master at this type of work, it was how I'd earned my living  
as a child before I'd gained full control over my magic. Every so often I grew tired of living  
off of berries and roots and wild game and ventured out into the small villages along the  
border, and there I discovered I could use clever tricks with coins, scarves, and balls to  
entertain the locals and earn myself a few extra coins and a decent supper.

I threw the coin up into the air, making it seem to vanish. Then I flung out my  
opposite hand and lo and behold!—there was the coin. I made it dance along the back of my  
fingers, flicked my wrist and made it vanish, only to draw it forth from the man's pocket.

He gaped at me in witless wonder. "Holy God! You're a magician."

I bowed with a flourish. "Right you are, my good man. Loki Sigurdson, Magician  
extraordinaire of Scandinavia, at your service."

"Scandinavy? Isn't that a place across the ocean, where it snows all the time or  
something?"

I nodded. "It is. I came here with my daughter to start a new life. My poor wife  
died, you see, and there were too many memories there. And too many debts too, she was  
sick for so long." I put on my most tragic air and continued spinning my false story. "So I  
decided to come to America, because I'd heard it was the Land of Opportunity and a man  
could make a living at most anything here. Magicians aren't too much in demand in my  
country anymore, but I'd heard that the circus folk are always looking for a talented  
sorcerer."

So saying I spun the coin on my palm and closed my hand over it. When I opened  
it, I held a golden scarf.

"Wow! How'd you do that?"

I grinned. "Magic, of course." I tucked the scarf in my belt. "But that was but a  
small sample of my skills. If you'd care to see more, I suggest you look me up when the  
circus comes to town."

"I just may do that. I always liked to see the magic acts when I was a kid. But I  
never saw anybody as good as you, Sigurdson."  
I shrugged modestly. "Thank you for the compliment, sir. Now, about that horse?"

I pointed to a likely looking paint, a white and brown gelding that looked like he'd  
once been an Indian's mount. I whistled and he came over to me. I stroked his nose,  
whispering softly in his ear. "Hello. I'm Loki, swift one. What's your name?"

"My mother called me Fleetfoot," the paint snuffled into my shoulder.

I ran my hands down the horse's withers and lifted each hoof, checking for  
soundness. He had large eyes and nostrils and a deep chest. His hooves were small, a  
characteristic of the mustang breed, but I knew he was probably surefooted as any goat and  
twice as hardy.

I gently looked inside his mouth, noting that he was still fairly young, not more than  
seven or eight. He'd probably been caught as a foal and hand tamed. "Would you like to  
come with me, Fleetfoot?"

"I would, as long as you promise not to kick or whip me. Otherwise you can forget  
it."

I promised, then I turned to the livery owner, who was frowning at our odd exchange.

"You talk to horses too, Sigurdson?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I said. "He looks like he'll last the journey. Not too scrawny  
or too old." I gave the horse a friendly slap on the rump, and the gelding stamped a hoof.  
"Got a bit of spirit too. I like that in an animal. How much you offering?"

We dickered for several minutes, but he was no match for me. I could have gotten  
the shirt off his back and his firstborn if I'd wanted by the time I was done.

"Damn, magician! You want to bankrupt me?" he growled, but at last he agreed to  
my price and Fleetfoot was mine.

As I turned to lead away my new horse, a skinny woman wrapped in a blanket shawl  
with a baby strapped to her back shuffled into view. Her long black hair was neatly braided  
and her copper colored skin revealed that she was clearly Indian. The papoose strapped to  
her back was a bit lighter in skin tone, probably the product of a liaison with a white man.  
There were hollows in her cheeks and I suspected she'd not had a decent meal in some time.

She cast a pleading hopeful glance at the livery owner. "Please, Mister Travers, can  
you spare a dime for me or my baby?"

The livery owner looked at her the way one might an annoying insect. "Be off with  
you, Blackbird! You know your kind ain't welcome round here, not after what your devil  
race did to General Custer and the Seventh at the Little Big Horn." He spat in the dirt at the  
woman's feet, which were encased in badly frayed moccasins held together by twine. "Now  
haul your skinny carcass outta here, you and your half-breed brat!" He made as if to lift a  
hand to her, and she shrank back and scuttled out of reach.

"Here now, that wasn't very charitable of you," I said softly, trying to disguise the  
anger simmering just below the surface. "Does not the Good Book say we should give to  
those less fortunate than ourselves?"

Travers gave me a look of utter disbelief mixed with disdain. "Charity ain't for the  
likes of that devil's bride, Sigurdson. Best you learn that now. No Injun hereabouts is good  
for anything other than target practice. Bunch of lying, thieving, cowardly bastards the lot  
of them. They'd soon as scalp you as look at you, damn savages."

"But that poor woman was starving," I pressed, wishing I could tear into him with  
my usual razor tongue.

"That ain't my affair. She used to be the mistress of a trapper here, Big Bill Pearson.  
But he disappeared late this past spring and most everybody thinks he's dead. He didn't  
leave much behind, cept his whore and her half-breed bastard. Who'd not be in this fix if  
she'd stuck to her own savage kind and not gone panting after decent white folks like a dog  
in heat." He spat again. "Word of advice, since you're new to these parts. Don't go gittin'  
involved with Injuns, it'll only lead to trouble. Mind your business and let others mind  
theirs."

I pretended to take his advice and bid him farewell, before I lost my temper  
completely and told him just what I thought of bigoted assholes who would let a mother and  
her innocent baby starve simply because they were of a different race. I knew things had  
heated up since the last time I'd been here, some seventy years ago, but I'd not realized just  
how badly things had gotten until now.  
My words to Bella the previous evening not withstanding, I simply couldn't stand by  
and watch a woman and child starve. I waited until the livery owner had gone back inside  
the stable and pretended to walk away down the street. But I slipped round the back of the  
establishment, for that was where the woman—Blackbird he'd called her—had gone.

I found her huddled against the side of the building, shivering violently in the cold  
wind. Her tattered shawl provided little or no protection against the wind's bite. I quickly  
reached into my saddlebag for some trail bread, cheese and beef jerky, we had more than  
enough to spare. I also grabbed an extra blanket, woven from Olga's soft silky hair, and  
warmer than anything they could make here.

"Here, little sister," I spoke softly, in careful Lakota, which I had learned long ago  
as a guest of the warrior-hunter Black Moccasin. "It is not right that women and children  
go hungry in the midst of plenty." I handed her the food and the blanket.

She stared at me in astonishment. "You speak my language! How did a white-eyes  
learn the words of the People?"

"By listening very carefully to my friend," I answered. "With this food, you can feed  
your baby, though it isn't much." I knew better than to give her money, for she would not  
be able to spend it, as any shopkeeper here would think she'd stolen it and take it from her.

"It is more than enough, brother," she said, and smiled at me. "Blue Star and I will  
eat well for a week or more with this. My thanks."

I smiled. Then, on impulse, I drew out one of my feather charms. These were minor  
amulets of protection and warmth, which I sometimes sold to those who came to me for such  
things. They were made from a single pheasant feather and polished turquoise stones strung  
on a leather cord. "Here. Wear this and no harm will come to you and your child,  
Blackbird." I slipped the cord over her head before she could protest.

She gasped. "This is powerful medicine! You are a shaman, a great one."

"Not as great as you'd think." I laughed softly. "This will keep you warm in the  
bitterest wind and warn you of those who would mean you harm. When you see the stone  
glow, that means danger is near and you should leave."

"I . . .this is too much! I don't deserve . . ." she began.  
I cut her off with a raised hand. "It is done. May the blessings of the Great Spirit be  
with you, little sister. Walk in peace and good health always."

"And you also, Shaman Fire Hair," she said softly, tears gleaming in her eyes.

I took the reins of all three of my horses and left then. My simple gift of food and  
the amulet were little enough, but they were all I had time for. If I could have, I would have  
helped her more, but time was flying.  
I led the horses back to the mercantile where I'd left Bella, tying all of them to the  
hitching post outside. The paint looked at me quizzically, and I stroked his velvet muzzle  
and transferred the sack of oats I'd brought from Asgard to his pack saddle. He remained  
quiet, not objecting to the weight, and as a reward, I reached inside and withdrew a handful  
of oats, which I fed to him from the palm of my hand.  
He crunched them up blissfully, saying, "I never knew oats that tasted like this in my  
life."

"Nor will you, for those oats were not from around here," put in Heror loftily.  
"They're Asgardian oats and sweeter than anything you've got down here."

"Asgardian oats? Where's that?" whinnied the paint, swishing his brown and white  
tail agitatedly.

"Asgard is the immortal realm beyond the Rainbow Bridge," I explained softly.

Fleetfoot snorted. "How is it that you understand our language, Master? No other  
human ever has."

"That's because your new master is no mere human, but an immortal magician,"  
Heror told him, with a toss of his head. "Thank your lucky stars, mortal horse, for you're  
now the property of Loki, Magician of Asgard."

"Oh. It is an honor to serve, sir," Fleetfoot said humbly. He gazed at me with  
something close to awe. "And are you both immortal also?"

"Of course. Not only immortal, but of far better lineage than your own," Heror  
declared proudly.

"Quit being such a snob!" I ordered sharply, smacking him lightly on the muzzle.

"You sound as bad as Grafnir, Thor's stallion."  
At that, my black lowered his head, ashamed, looking like a schoolboy being scolded  
roundly by his master, as well he might. "Sorry," he mumbled. Grafnir was as haughty and  
mean-tempered as his master, and Heror couldn't stand him. To be compared to him for an  
instant was a dreadful put down.

"As well you ought to be. Now behave," I said gruffly, giving both black horses a  
last pat before going inside to fetch my daughter.

I found Bella waiting impatiently while the storekeeper wrapped up the last of her  
purchases, then together his assistant, a brawny youth of seventeen, and I carried them out  
to the paint and loaded them. Bella had bought a sack of flour, sugar, salt, beans, syrup,  
cornmeal, and a slab of salt pork. She'd also gotten a book of herbal remedies she thought  
would be useful to add to our library of medical texts and a tortoiseshell comb carved in the  
shape of a wolf for her hair. Trust a girl to go into a store for necessities and come out with  
something totally useless for herself. Ah well, it wasn't as if we couldn't afford it.  
I asked her if she wanted to stay the night here or continue onward and stop  
somewhere along the trail. She opted to go on, apparently she was as fond of towns as I was.  
We rested long enough to water the horses and munch on provisions from our saddlebags,  
then we were in the saddle and heading west once more.

Once out of the town, I told her of the encounter with the Indian woman and her  
baby, and she frowned and said, "What kind of man could leave a woman and a child to  
starve like that? It's—it's indecent! Isn't there a law or something against it?"

"Not a law per say, but such behavior is considered ungentlemanly and un-  
Christian," I said heatedly. "The God these people worship taught that one should help those  
less fortunate, but certain people choose to disregard those teachings when they feel like it.  
Jesus would be ashamed of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "You say that as if you knew the man."

"I did. Long and long ago, before the English settlers ever set foot in this land. I'll  
tell you the story after dinner tonight, it's not something I can speak of while riding." I said  
softly. That tale was too painful for casual conversation, and it deserved an audience whose  
undivided attention was focused on the teller. Even after all this time, my heart still ached  
when I thought of that day, and recalled that conversation, and it had been thousands of years  
past in Midgard time.

Bella sensed this and switched topics. "I got some odd looks from the proprietor of  
the mercantile when I first entered the store. He seemed to think it was improper for me to  
be there alone—without a male escort, he said—as if a woman needed a man to lean on.  
And he frowned at my trousers and shirt and I heard him mutter something to his apprentice  
about decent women wearing skirts. What does that have to do with anything?"

I sighed, for I had forgotten the ridiculous dress codes mortals here had. They were  
as bad as Vanir in that regard. "Out here, women are regarded as weaker than men, and  
therefore in need of a man's protection. Most white women your age never go anywhere  
without a companion, usually an older woman or a man who is related to her, like a father  
or a brother. I hope you told him I was here."

"I did. I also told him I was far past the age when I needed to hold your hand," Bella  
said tartly.

"Did you now?" I began to laugh. "That must have gone over real well."

"He got quite red in the face and apologized," she said smugly. I wasn't surprised.  
Bella's tongue could flay the hide off an unwary man when she chose, much like her mentor  
Ran. "And what was all that about wearing a dress? Isn't this what women wear down  
here?"

"Yes, out here on the trail, the more sensible women wear denims. But it's  
considered improper for a lady of good family to wear trousers while in town. Some of them  
even wear skirts when they ride."

"How?"

"They wear them slit up the side and don't ride astride, but on a ridiculous invention  
called a sidesaddle." I explained what one looked like.

Bella gazed at me in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"On my honor, I'm not."

"But—but that's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard of. You need two legs to ride  
a horse properly, your balance is off else. And in a skirt no less! That's just asking for  
trouble. Don't these women realize that?"

"Some do, to be sure. But the ones who are concerned with fashion and proper  
behavior, they'll risk their necks and not think twice about it, the empty-headed  
featherbrains."

"I wonder how many women have fallen off and died in the name of such stupid  
conventions?" my daughter asked.

"Probably more than they'll ever admit to, though riding is considered the sport of  
a lady."

"Well, you'll never catch me using anything like that, no matter what men like that  
storekeeper think." Bella declared.

"Don't worry about it. We're not here to mingle with what passes for society out  
here. The circus folk are more practical, they won't care if you ride astride or not. If they're  
anything like the Gypsies I used to know, they've got their share of trick riders who can ride  
standing up, women as well as men."

"Good, because I found that man's attitude towards women annoying as hell. I  
probably have more education than he ever dreamed, yet when I started to bargain with him,  
he tried to act like I didn't know what I was talking about. Said such things were men's  
affairs and I shouldn't bother my pretty little head about it. Does he think I'm stupid or  
something?"

"No, but again, girls like you don't walk into stores like that and haggle like a horse  
trader, Bella darling. They get servants to do that for them."

"Ha! No wonder he looked ready to cry when we finished bargaining. Those ladies  
he knew must have been bored to tears, sitting around watching others do everything for  
them. I'm beginning to understand what mortals mean when they talk of a lady of leisure.  
And the Norns help me if I ever act like one, they sound like pampered sheep dressed up for  
the spring fair."

"And they probably have as many brains as one," I laughed. Heaven help the man  
who tried to make my independent feisty daughter into a trophy wife. She'd eat him alive  
for breakfast. Maybe that was why Leif had run, because he'd realized that Bella would  
never fit the model of a subservient Vanir lady, content to stay home and manage a  
household. But then, what did he expect, with her being the daughter of the Magician of  
Asgard? I threw all convention to the winds as I chose so it would only follow that my  
daughter did so as well. I'd raised her to think, not follow blindly along with what everyone  
else did.

Such an attitude would shock the boots off many of the men here, who'd been  
brought up to regard females as the fairer and weaker sex. Thor's Beard, were they ever  
mistaken about that one! All the women I'd ever known were about as weak as the Midgard  
Serpent, despite their looks. Even Freya, who enjoyed on occasion playing the helpless  
maiden, could reduce a man to jelly with a single glance from her cerulean eyes, and she was  
a sharp as a brass tack for all of her beautiful looks.  
It had always puzzled me as to why a mortal man insisted on making his woman into  
an ornament rather than a partner who could help him. Then again, no one ever said mortals  
had the sense the Norns gave a goose. But I was being unfair, for not all men wanted women  
like that. The Lakota women of my acquaintance regarded white women as helpless ninnies,  
chickens without a head, was the way Black Moccasin's wife Feather Dancer had described  
them. Among the Lakota, and most Indian tribes, women worked just as hard as the men  
and were given equal status in some societies. Which was why the whites regarded them as  
savages, no doubt.

That prejudice had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface, but now  
it was bubbling over, like a pot left too long on the stove. I prayed we could find Gungnir  
and get back home before it erupted into full-scale war, though from what Travers had said,  
war had already begun. The best I could hope for was to remove the Black Spear before its  
influence caused more bloodshed.  
Damn you, Leif Malasteinsson! Bringing Gungnir here might have just caused the  
biggest bloodbath this country has ever seen. There's no telling what trouble the Spear of  
War will cause unchecked like this. It's always been unpredictable, which was why Odin  
used it sparingly after awhile, and never down here, where mortals are so susceptible to its  
influence of hatred and death. I shook my head angrily. My former apprentice had a hell  
of a lot to answer for, and I was going to make damn sure he knew what his reckless  
decision had cost. By the time I was done with him, he was going to wish he was Thor's  
bondservant again and all he had to fear was a beating.

I spent the rest of the ride going over our false identities and showing Bella some of  
my routine illusions that we'd be performing as our introduction to get hired by the circus  
manager. As I'd said before, most of our tricks would be sleight-of-hand and such, using  
flash powder and other aids the way stage magicians had been doing for centuries. Real  
spells would be used sparingly, for magic was not welcomed here as a general rule and I had  
no wish to be hunted down like a beast for practicing witchcraft.

Still, if push came to shove, I'd use my powers and instructed Bella to do the same.

We made camp alongside another fast-flowing stream in a small grove of poplars.  
After a savory meal of cornbread, baked beans (which I made according to a recipe I'd  
gotten from an old cowhand, using magic to speed the process), fried salt pork, and coffee  
with lots of sugar, I settled down and told Bella about my meeting with Jesus of Nazareth,  
who was now known as Jesus Christ, as I had promised.

It was a tale I had told no one, until now.


	15. A Conversation With Jesus

**A Conversation With Jesus**

﻿I remember that day in Galilee, the day I'd decided to see what all the fuss was about  
with this man, Jesus of Nazareth, this wonder worker, who it was said, made the lame walk  
and the blind see. He was probably nothing more than a clever fraud, his "miracles" staged  
beforehand by willing participants. For the Gift of true Healing was as rare as a star falling  
whole to earth. Mortals are so easily tricked into seeing what they want to see and not  
what's really there. No one knew that better than I, the trickster incarnate.

Still, the stories intrigued me, and that was something that had not happened in a  
long time. I had dwelled on Midgard for nearly ten years back then, which might seem like  
a long time, but was barely the blink of an eye to me. I lived the life of a wealthy Roman  
citizen, living in a lush villa and passing myself off as a wealthy scion of a House no one had  
ever heard of, a fact they soon forgot after they spoke with me. I was considered a patron  
of the arts and sciences, especially medicine, and often had famous artists, poets, minstrels,  
and doctors over to dine. We had the most lively discussions and I was never bored  
speaking with them, as I had been with my peers in Asgard. It was there I learned much of  
my medical expertise, for some of the most learned physicians in Alexandria came to my  
house to debate with me over Falernian and honey cakes.

I first heard rumors of Jesus' cures from a fellow physician, who laughed it off as the  
ravings of deluded rustics. Jerusalem was a hot bed of political and civil unrest, with riots  
occurring almost daily as the Jews protested Roman rule and the appointment of the new  
governor, Pontus Pilate.

My friends and acquaintances thought I'd taken leave of my senses to go there now.  
"Best watch your back, Maximus, lest some assassin slaughters you in the streets."

I shrugged off their concerns, for I had little to fear from assassins. No one can sneak  
up on the Master Thief without his consent. And I was not going to Jerusalem, but to  
Galilee, a small community of fishermen, farmers, and shepherds.

Typical of my impulsive nature, once I'd made up my mind, I left the following  
afternoon, using magic to speed my arrival. I followed my ears, and learned that the miracle  
worker, a carpenter's son, or so it was said, was visiting the house of a wealthy merchant,  
having been called there to treat his little son, who had a clubfoot.

Now I knew damn good and well that such a deformity was well nigh impossible to  
correct, unless it had been caught while the child was still a baby and even then, the braces  
and such did not guarantee the child could walk normally. According to gossip, this child  
was six years old, too old for a brace to do any good. I wondered what trickery the man  
would perform to fool the family.

But when I arrived, the whole town was buzzing about how the child was able to run  
and walk, that he'd thrown away his crutch, and raced a friend down the street after Jesus  
had touched him. I saw the child himself, and he looked as healthy and strong as any boy  
his age. I cast about for a glamour, something that would indicate this Jesus was nothing  
more than a charlatan, a clever street magician. I had seen beggars in Egypt feign being  
crippled and maimed. But there was no trace of glamour about the kid, and I was no novice  
to be fooled by another's Seeming. A faint aura of some kind of Power did hover about the  
boy, but it was not illusionary in nature.

_Well, Loki, you came all this way to meet this supposed miracle man, so why don't  
you get on with it?_ He's probably in the garden beyond the wall, resting from his labors. I  
scaled the wall unseen, landing noiselessly on the other side. I landed among several pear  
trees and followed the pretty paved walkway around the rose bushes to a stone bench carved  
with odd winged figures. Then I recalled the Hebrews called these winged men angels, the  
messengers of their god.

There, seated on a bench, was Jesus. He was a medium-sized young man, about  
thirty or perhaps a little older, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed  
plainly, in a brown robe such as any common tradesman might wear and the sandals on his  
feet were ordinary Roman leather. He was leaning his head in his hand, eyes closed,  
meditating.

He did not look at all like the slick con man I'd imagined. But appearances can be  
deceiving, as I well knew. I was dressed as an upscale Roman citizen, hair trimmed, shaved,  
good embroidered tunic and mantle of honey and peacock blue and fine kidskin sandals.  
Anyone seeing me would think I was a wealthy patrician, when nothing could be further  
from the truth. I was but a bored immortal playing a role I'd created to liven up my rather  
humdrum existence.

I crept nearer, soft-footed as a shadow. But when I drew near him, I discovered I was  
mistaken about what he was. This was no street magician, savvy and slick, full of his own  
importance. He was something a lot more dangerous. He was part immortal and Gifted.  
He opened his eyes then and turned his head to look at me, though I knew he couldn't  
have heard my approach. His brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he took in my fine attire,  
though I knew that wouldn't fool him. All those of immortal blood can always recognize  
each other, no matter the disguise they adopt. Not individually, mind, but simply the fact  
that we are immortal.

I noted that his eyes were dark and they saw with a clarity and vision of a Seer. They  
were the eyes of one who can read hearts and souls, serene and compassionate and utterly  
captivating.

I broke free of his gaze with an effort.

Young for one of us, but the Power in his gaze was unmistakable.

"Have you come to ask me something, sir?" his voice was low and soothing, but his  
eyes were still widened in surprise when he stared at me.

"That depends," I answered. "Are you the man called Jesus of Nazareth?"

"I am." His brow furrowed and I felt again that shiver of recognition along my bones,  
the utter certainty that here was another of my kind, which always accompanies meeting a  
strange immortal. I knew he felt it too. "You are not like the other men who have come to  
me. In fact I . . .don't think you are a man at all."

"And you'd be right." I lowered my voice, pitching it so only he could hear it. "I'm  
not a man at all. I am an immortal. My name is Loki of Asgard."

"How is it that I can sense you this way?" he asked, sounding very like a curious  
child. "I've never felt anything quite like this before. There is a . . .radiance about you.  
You shine." He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

I spread my hands out. "It's an instinct. We always know our own kind. The way  
a bird knows how to fly or a fish to swim. You are part mortal too, however."

He nodded. "I would be pleased if you would sit with me."

I obeyed, dropping down to sit beside him on the bench, tucking a foot behind the  
other. "Is it the first time you've met one of us then, son?" I asked. "You don't mind me  
calling you that, do you?" I added, not wanting to seem condescending.

He smiled. "No. You're much older than I am."

"Yes," I chuckled, completely at ease with him. "Give or take a few centuries." I  
eyed him thoughtfully. "You have a terribly strong Healing Talent. And you've been using  
it quite frequently, if the gossip I heard in the street is any indication. But you might want  
to be a bit more cautious. Miracles don't come without a price, even if you charge nothing."

"It is my calling."

I nodded, finding his answer charmingly naïve. "Do you mean to heal the whole  
world then?"

"I would like to. But I am only one man. Far better, I think, to have men heal  
themselves. With peace. Peace and love to end all suffering," Jesus said eagerly, and his  
eyes shone like an excited child's. "I mean to bring peace to the world and wash away the  
blood of war and death."

"Oh? A noble sentiment," I said, and I meant it. "But unrealistic. Peace doesn't  
last," I pointed out gently.

"So you think."

"So I know," I corrected. "I've wandered the earth for more years than you can  
comprehend, young one. And there has not been a time when peace has ever held sway  
across it. Many men, great leaders, have sought what you have and they died never able to  
gain it. I was once tutor to Alexander the Great of Macedon, and he too dreamed a dream  
of a world united in peace under one ruler. So too did Julius Caesar. And they failed."

"That's because they tried to gain peace through conquest. It doesn't work like that.  
War only begets war," he stated serenely.

I sighed. "Trust me. Peace doesn't last."

"Now you sound like my father. He thought that way too, until I convinced Him  
otherwise."

Something in the way he said that last statement told me that his father was the  
divine one of his parents. "He was probably humoring you. Fathers do that with their  
children sometimes." Especially ones as young and innocent as you.

"Not mine," he said with a small half-smile.

"If others, all considered great men, have failed to unite the world in peace, what  
makes you so sure you can succeed? I know you're half-immortal, but even we have limits."  
I said, raising an eyebrow. Fenris' Teeth, but had I ever been as innocent as that? No, I'd  
learned better when I was a mere boy of nine.

"Because peace cannot be imposed by force, Loki. It must come from within," he  
tapped his chest. "Once you've felt the grace of the Light, you can show others the way, by  
example. All people have the grace of the Light within them."

"That's assuming you can even get them to listen to you," I said, somewhat cynically.  
"From what I've seen, people make wars easier than they'll ever make peace. I don't know  
if what you suggest is even possible." In fact I was quite certain it wasn't, but something  
kept me from stating that. Let him keep his illusions for awhile. The world was a harsh  
enough teacher, it would soon show him differently.

"Oh, it is," Jesus said serenely. "I have Seen into the hearts and minds of men. That  
is another of my Gifts. All men, even the most flawed, are capable of peace and love."

"I've Seen into the hearts of men too, and I certainly didn't get that feeling."

He gazed at me earnestly, and his eyes seemed to see right through me. "Your vision  
is flawed, forgive me for saying so. You cannot See properly because your spirit is  
wounded, Loki."

I flinched, for never had another seen past the barriers about my soul. "So is  
everyone's." I said dismissively.

"Not like yours."

I narrowed my eyes. Two could play at this game. "You too bear scars," I said,  
nettled at how easily this youngster read me.

"Yes. But I've healed mine. Yours still bleed." He reached out a hand, palm up.  
"I can help you, if you will let me. I can mend what was broken."

I recoiled from him as though he was a viper. "No! Stay out of my head. I don't need  
your help." I'd never let another immortal inside my head and I sure as hell wasn't going to  
start now.

He smiled sadly. "Easy, friend. I would never hurt you."

I flushed, embarrassed at behaving like a child in front of him. Anyone would think  
he was the elder, not me. "I know that. But my spirit is my own affair."

He nodded, and his hand settled again in his lap. "I understand. You are not ready  
yet. To all things there is a season. One day you too shall feel God's grace, Loki of  
Asgard."

"Me? You are kidding, right?"

"You don't think you are worthy."

"I know I'm not," I said bluntly. "You don't know me, otherwise you'd never say  
that. I'm a thief and a trickster and the Magician of Asgard. Hardly a model citizen."

"But Loki, that's exactly why you are deserving of the Lord's Grace."

"What? You're not making any sense. Those who have done wrong are more  
deserving of Grace?"

"Look. It is easy to do good, to give charity, to respect your fellow man, when that  
is all you have known. Or have been taught. Then there is no conflict. It is far harder to do  
right when you have been hurt or wronged. And therefore that is why you need grace,  
because you need help more than those whose feet are already upon the path. This I believe,  
and so I teach my followers, that the sinner as well as the saint is equally deserving of  
Light."

I considered that philosophy for a moment. It seemed so simplistic, so idealistic.  
Could it work? Perhaps. And perhaps not. But what if it did? I thought of my Aesir family,  
how they would jeer and mock this one's vision. Peace was for cowards, for weaklings too  
afraid to lift a sword. Power belonged to the strong, to those who could fight and hold it.  
In all their centuries of life, their attitude had never changed. And they were no better now  
than they had been then. They built no grand monuments, created nothing worthy of  
remembrance. They lived and died under the auspices of war, their lives one long tale of  
blood and slaughter and glory.

I shook my head. Had I not sought a better way than that myself? Of course I had.  
I knew there was more to life than war and pain and death. More to life than getting drunk  
and taking some poor serving girl to bed, then casting her off some five months later when  
your bastard swelled in her belly. Oh yes, I knew there was more to living than that.

But Jesus' dream of peace and love for all seemed too fragile to last past his life and  
his death. For he was only half-mortal, and eventually that mortal blood will win out and  
he would die. I had seen the worst and the best of human nature and it had always seemed  
to me that the worst held more sway than the best.

Jesus was eyeing me, almost as if he could see the thoughts whirling in my head. But  
I knew that could not be. My shields over my mind were very strong, and no mere demigod  
could take them down without my noticing.

"Tell me, my friend, if you are going to make this vision a reality, how will you do  
it? Most mortals don't have your foresight, they don't look much past their own supper, not  
unless it impacts their life directly. How will you make your dream live on once you aren't  
there to guide them?"

"I will teach others to see the world as I do," Jesus answered slowly. "I have begun  
that already, as you know, with my disciples here. They manage to spread my message far  
more effectively than I could by myself."

"Every prophet needs followers."

"Yes, if you want to put it that way. But I'm not only a prophet."  
"But the son of a god, yes I'm aware of that. For all you were born mortal, you have  
a spark of the divine in you."

"As do all people. All of you are the children of God."

"Which god?" I taunted, knowing perfectly well that he was a follower of the Hebrew  
faith, which claimed there was only one god.

"The only one there is. The Lord of All who is my Father."

"Ah. The Great Creator. I think there are others who would argue that point of view.  
Zeus, Odin, Hera, to name a few."

"They are not gods. Only immortals like yourself. You know that for truth, Loki."

I nodded. "Yes, and have for a long time. But your God is merely an aspect of  
Creation, the force which gives life to all."

"But a truer face than the one you immortals show to mankind," Jesus argued.

"It is easier for man to worship something they can see or touch. That's why they feel  
comfortable calling upon us immortals. It's much harder to call upon a force that can't be  
seen or touched only felt."

"That is why we have faith."

"Ah, but is your faith strong enough to change the world?"

"Yes. It is. What I teach my followers will remain long after I'm gone."

"Where's that written?"

"In the holy books. I have read them."

"Books fade and are forgotten. And the memory of man is as fleeting as the wind  
over the desert." I pointed out ruthlessly. "And so I ask you again, how will you make your  
peace last beyond a handful of centuries? A few paltry mortal lifetimes?"

For the first time since we'd begun talking, Jesus looked annoyed and a bit  
apprehensive. "You don't believe I can do what I said, do you?"

"Hey, there's no greater skeptic than an immortal magician."

"You say that belief and faith aren't enough. What then do you suggest, oh wise  
one?" he queried, teasing me.

I thought for a moment. "You know that what we call magic is simply our  
manipulation of the primal force of the universe, right?" I asked, assuming the tone of a  
teacher lecturing to a pupil. In this, I was the master, for I had centuries more experience  
than he did in using Power.

Slowly, Jesus nodded. "Not in such terms, but yes, I know that when I heal I draw  
upon a force outside of myself."

"And when you use that force to heal someone, how do you make it do your will?  
How do you make sure the person you healed stays well?"

He frowned, for obviously he'd never thought about it before. Like many Gifted,  
especially strong ones, the power was easily summoned without much thought.

"I concentrate and then I bend my will upon a person and he or she is healed. I give  
them a portion of my Power."

"Exactly. And after you've done so, you're tired, right? Because in using your Gift  
you use some of your own energy. That is the price of magic. The greater the task, the more  
you must give of yourself."

"Nothing comes without sacrifice."

"Yes." I nodded, pleased with how quickly he grasped that concept. Many of my  
students never did understand it fully. "For this to work, you may have to sacrifice  
everything." I continued, an unmistakable warning in my tone.

"You are saying that in order to create a peace that lasts I must sacrifice my life."

"Yes. Only the very greatest magics require a life price. For your vision to become  
true and lasting, you will have to give up your life."

"But I am not totally human. Can I die and still have the sacrifice have meaning?"

"Yes. Because you will have given up your mortal shell. Oh, you won't die forever,  
not the way mortals do. The divine part of you will live, but your mortal body will cease to  
exist." I said, certain of what I spoke. It had been done before, by Hercules and several other  
demi-immortals, their mortal flesh had died and they had continued to exist as a pure  
immortal, once they had fashioned a body for themselves, that is.

Then I blinked, for my words had triggered a flash of Sight. I caught my breath in  
horror. For I saw the gentle demigod hanging on a cross, bloodied and battered, agonizing  
pain flickering in those too-wise eyes. _This is the death that is promised._ I knew then that the  
sacrifice demanded of him would be worse than anything I had ever endured. I shuddered,  
trembling as if in a fever.

"No!" I hissed, bringing up a hand to cover my face.

"What is it, Loki? What do you See?" Jesus asked softly.

I bit my lip hard, that awful image still floating before my eyes, blinking back tears.  
"Nothing." It was true. The Seeing was gone.

"Tell me. Did you See something that will be?"

"Yeah. And you don't want to know about it." I rubbed my eyes, as if that would help  
erase what I'd seen.

"It was about me," he stated in that maddeningly certain tone.

"Yes. Now don't ask me anymore," I growled.

"You saw my death, didn't you?" he persisted.

I wanted to scream. I refused to answer him. But he gazed at me with those eyes and  
at last I said, "You're not ready to know about what I Saw. Not yet." Maybe not ever. Odin's  
bones, but if what I had Seen came true. . .

"If my death is required as the final sacrifice, I shall give it willingly." Jesus stated  
with that awful serenity. "You need not fear for me."

I ground my teeth together. _You wouldn't be so damn calm if you'd seen what I just  
did,_ I wanted to yell. I had seen mortals tortured to death before, but somehow Jesus' death  
was worse than any I'd ever seen before. All of that wisdom, that innocence, that brilliant  
Power, destroyed in the name of an elusive peace. It made my gut ache just recalling it. How  
could anything be worth that final degradation? How?

"It's not as easy as you make it sound," I began, trying to dissuade him from his  
course. "I don't think your peace is worth it."

He laid a hand on my arm. "Someday you will think otherwise. I thank you, Loki,  
for helping me solve that particular problem. I hadn't realized until now what I had to do.  
You are wise for a magician."

I gave a bitter laugh. "No, I'm a fool."

"They are one and the same."

"Now who's wise?"

He laughed. "I am not half so wise as some think. Does the manner of my death  
matter?"

"Yeah, it does. Dying in your bed won't do it." I said shortly. "But if you're asking  
me what's the best way to die, forget it. I've never wanted anything so bad I'd be willing to  
give up my immortality for it. And I don't like killing. Blood magic's never been my forte."

"That vision you saw—"

"Don't ask. Please. It wasn't pretty." I closed my eyes. "Why can't you give up this  
crazy notion?"

"Because the world needs hope, Loki. Or else the people will be lost to darkness."

"So get someone else to do it."

"I can't. It must be now. And I am the only one willing to give up my life, as you  
pointed out. There is no other way. I must sacrifice all or nothing. I see that now, thanks to  
you."

"I should have kept my damn mouth shut," I muttered savagely.

"What will be, shall be. It will be all right. We shall see each other again, my friend.  
After I have done what I must. Fear not." He patted my shoulder, much as a parent would  
comfort a child.

I scowled. "I should be telling _you_ that."

"Death is not so terrible, Loki," he soothed. "And after I shall be with my Father in  
paradise."

"You wouldn't be so quick to say that if you knew . . ." I broke off. "No. I won't  
discuss this any more." I gazed at him sadly. "I've said too much, as usual. There's nothing  
I can say that will change your mind?"

"No. My course is set. This is what I was born to do. Not even the vision you fear  
will change that."

I wanted to slap his face. Or cry on his shoulder, I wasn't sure which. "You're a  
damn fool, Jesus!" I snapped, brushing away the tears that sprang to my eyes.

"Then I'm in good company, aren't I?" he said, and smiled at me.

"Yeah, I guess you are," I managed a small smile in return. "Pity no one else who  
knows me would agree with you."

"They don't see you the way I do. You are much more than you think you are.  
Someday I hope you will realize that."

"Not in your lifetime, son," I snorted with my usual mocking bite.

"No, but perhaps in yours. You deserve peace and happiness, Loki. But first you  
must learn to forgive yourself. Only then will you be free."

"I'm free now."

"Are you? Maybe in body, but what of your heart?"

"That's my own affair."

"True. Learn to forgive yourself. Remember, through forgiveness is love. That is  
perhaps the most important lesson I will ever teach." Then he rose to his feet. "Goodbye,  
Loki. We shall meet again in the next world."

I remained silent, my tongue for once was still in my head. I watched him go, walking  
slowly away through the garden towards the gate to bid his host farewell. I knew with a  
terrible foreboding that this was the last time I would see him in this world. I felt as if I  
watched a child dancing blithely on the edge of a cliff suddenly tumble off to his death.

_He goes willingly to his death_, my conscience reproved._ And his death will have great  
meaning for millions of people.  
_  
_And that's supposed to make me feel better?_ I snarled back. _Well, it doesn't. So just  
shut the hell up.  
_  
I bowed my head and wept then, I who hadn't cried in centuries, not since that fateful  
day I'd run from my childhood home to live alone in the forest. But I cried then, sobbing like  
a child. Though my tears weren't only for Jesus, but also for myself, because I knew I  
couldn't do what he'd advised and forgive myself. For I was too afraid.

That is why I find the behavior of such people like Travers so hypocritical and  
despicable. Because they claim to follow the teachings of Christ, but they really only follow  
them when it suits them, giving charity and being tolerant to those they feel are deserving of  
that favor. _Love yourself and love ye one another._ That was what he'd told me so long ago.  
He never said that one group of people was more worthy of love then another. All were  
worthy. Even immortal tricksters such as I. Thus he had sacrificed his life, and it irritated  
me past bearing when I saw some sanctimonious idiot profaning that terrible sacrifice. Jesus  
would have forgiven them, I'm sure. I was not cut in that same mold. Not then.


	16. The Magnificent Magician

**The Magnificent Magician**

﻿"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce the Wonderful Wizard,  
the Most Magnificent Magician, the Illusionist Extraordinaire, here from the frozen forests  
of the far North, the Scandinavian Sorcerer, Mr. Sigurdson and his beautiful daughter, Miss  
Bella!" Matthew Turner announced in his deep rich baritone.

That was our cue to appear out of the ether on the stage for our magic act. We didn't  
really teleport, of course, only walked through a curtain of black cloth amid the snapping of  
flash powder and smoke pellets that made it seem as if we appeared out of thin air. Stage  
magicians have been using flash powder and smoke pellets for centuries, and I saw no reason  
to change that now; save for making the flash powder easier to wipe off my hands and the  
smoke scented with a pleasant wintergreen flavor so my eyes wouldn't water and the smoke  
give me coughing fits.

I was dressed in a flamboyant red silk cape with a shimmery cloth of gold lining,  
made for me by my talented daughter before we departed Asgard. It was long enough so I  
could swirl it through the air with sufficient elegance, yet at the same time it was light enough  
to conceal my hands when I was doing a trick or two. It also contained several pockets for  
holding things. It came down to the tops of my mirror bright black boots, which were etched  
with "mystical" symbols in gold thread. For the rest of my costume I wore skin tight silk  
breeches, also black, and a flowing red silk shirt with golden embroidery about the cuffs and  
high collar. Those had been made for me by Ava, since the Nis was able to sew ten times  
quicker than Bella. I also wore my runestone and a large ruby pendant on a gold chain,  
reputed to be an All-seeing Eye. It wasn't magical at all, though the ruby was real enough,  
as was the gold chain. I also had a small wand of rowan wood, and this was magical, having  
a few minor illusion and glamour spells built into it, though by and large most of my act was  
done with sleight of hand and not true magic.

Bella's costume was the reverse of mine, where I had black, she had red, though her  
cape was shorter and her hair tumbled down her back in a silvery gold froth of curls that  
made her seem even more exotic looking than she already was. As my assistant, her job was  
to distract the audience from what I was actually doing and hand me things. She did this  
admirably well, men's jaws dropped to the ground the first time she appeared beside me on  
stage that first performance and didn't close until after we'd taken our final bows. Like me,  
she was a natural showman, smiling and delighting in the applause of the fickle crowd, which  
is lifeblood to a true performer.

I had forgotten the way a crowd could make your blood heat and run hotter than fine  
wine, making each trick you performed seem a thing of mystery and wonder. My tricks were  
not all the common run of town fair magicians, like coins and scarves, and disappearing  
women, though I performed those too. I used my mastery of fire to create rings which I leapt  
through, landing unscorched on the other side. I juggled flaming knives and batons, making  
them vanish into the air and reappear suddenly. I made it seem as if I walked on air, and I  
called birds to my hand, and made a buffalo and a whole tribe of Indians stampede across the  
stage in blue smoke.

I called upon volunteers from the audience, a young man, whom I then proceeded to  
toss slender silver knives at, though the knives were harmless tin foil ones that wouldn't have  
scratched a hair off of his head, however real they looked. The young man always looked  
terrified, even after I'd assured him there was no real danger involved.

Next I picked one of those arrogant rich men who always comes to scoff at the  
performances, and I proceeded to hypnotize him with my ruby pendant. I actually used a  
small portion of my will for this trick and then I would tell him he now thought he was a  
certain kind of animal—a donkey, a duck, a cow, a camel—and he would parade round the  
stage on all fours acting like perfect idiot. The audience loved that one, especially after I  
released the haughty man from my spell, and he recalled hardly anything of what I'd done,  
but was the talk of the social scene for weeks afterwards.

Then I asked a young lady to come up, I usually always picked one who was not  
wealthy, and proceeded to transform her plain dress into a gown worthy of a queen with a few  
gestures and a wave of my magic wand. This was true glamour, not sleight of hand, and it  
always drew gasps of envy from all the women in the audience and sighs from the men. I  
gave the girl a good five minutes worth before I cancelled the spell, but I knew those five  
minutes would be remembered forever, and as a parting gift she received a flower with a  
small silver chain entwined about it. The flower was just a common prairies rose but the  
chain contained a tiny bit of glamour in it, enough so that when she wore it, she would attract  
a decent man. It was my way of evening up the odds of marriage and courtship, since many  
of those women would never have a chance otherwise.

My last volunteer was usually a child, I alternated between boys and girls, and I used  
the kid for my scarf trick, I tied the kid to a chair with multiple scarves, put the chair on a  
revolving platform built into the stage, and then spun the kid around. When I stopped  
spinning, the scarves had been transformed into one long ribbon of cloth and the kid was  
sitting on the chair unbound. The children loved that trick and they begged to learn how it  
was done. I never told them, of course, but I did send the lucky kid away with a colored scarf  
with a quarter tied in it. (The secret to that trick was to make it look as if you were tying  
multiple scarves when actually you were only using one scarf knotted several times, that  
could unknot with a pull in the right direction.) I used a scarf of multi-colored silk and had  
learned to tie quick release knots in order to make that trick work effectively.

I had learned long ago the value of giving away small trinkets during a performance,  
people loved a generous performer, and it was always nice to go home with a souvenir. It  
drew people into the show like bees to honey.

One of my favorite tricks was juggling colored balls of witchlight, I could make them  
smaller or larger and sometimes I tossed them in a ring around Bella, who would then  
pretend to dance like a harem dancer , spinning the colored balls about her waist like a hoop.  
That always had half the men in the crowd falling down on their knees.  
I also could make the witchlight into a ribbon which I skipped through like I was  
jumping rope. I would then coil up the "rope" in my fist and open my hands, and the rope  
was transformed into dozens of colored butterflies or doves that flew out over the audience  
in silver sparkles.

Another crowd pleaser was my fire-breathing act, where I swallowed a torch and then  
breathed fire. I lit a branch of candles with my dragon's breath, then invited a man up to  
confirm that the fire was real. This was a feat of true magic, and one that only a skilled fire  
magician could perform. Cast the spell wrong and you'd end up scorching your throat. (I  
knew the same kind of trick was performed non-magically with a ball of pitch held between  
your teeth, but I hate the taste of pine gum, and my way was more effective.)

My cape played a considerable role in my act. I used it to conceal things or make  
doves fly out of it, or threw it over a box or Bella during the course of a trick. For my finale,  
I transformed myself into a fox or a rabbit or a cat, and this was a true transformation, not a  
fake. I explained it away as a trick to my fellow circus performers, and kept a real fox, a cat,  
and a rabbit in a cage as decoys.

We performed one show a night, and at least five a week, depending on how long we  
stayed in a town. We'd been with Turner's Traveling Circus for almost three weeks, just long  
enough to reassure Matthew Turner, who was the manager and ringmaster of the show, that  
we were legitimate performers and not con artists.

I could still sense Gungnir's presence, it was inside a wooden trunk in the wagon with  
the accounts and the money, fiercely guarded by Mr. Aristotle Tims, the financier, who  
claimed he had eyes like Argus, the one-hundred eyed watchman of Hera in Greek  
mythology. He slept in the same wagon as the money box and it was said he could hear a  
feather drop.

I could have gotten past him in a twinkling, but I knew it was bad policy to try and  
snatch the spear first thing. Besides, I knew I could get it any time I wanted, and it was more  
fun to pretend to be an honest circus performer. Bella and I had caught up to the gaudy  
wagons the third day out from leaving Last Chance.

I had presented Matthew with the same story I'd given Travers, and asked him to hire  
us. I'd given him a small demonstration of my skills, enough to convince him I was the  
genuine article (which I was). He was very impressed and hired us on the spot.

Bella was disappointed that we did not find Leif anywhere around, I think she'd hoped  
he'd joined the circus too. I told her I didn't think that likely, for he had no skills as a  
performer the way I did and he'd stand out like a sore thumb. "Don't worry, girl," I  
whispered to her in the privacy of our wagon, a rather small box bearing the name of the  
circus on it, which would serve as our bed and storage room. It was drawn by two sturdy  
draft mules, Pete and Patty. Heror and Flicker drew envious glances from more than a few  
of the troupe, they knew quality horseflesh when they saw it. "We'll find my runaway  
apprentice soon enough. A good thief never leaves the goods unattended for too long."

"Then you think he's here somewhere?" Bella asked softly. "But I can't sense him."

"He's probably under a masking spell. But he'll be back, mark my words. And then  
we can confront him. For now, though, we're going to have to play the roles we've chosen  
and make the best of it."

"I guess so," she sighed.

I patted her cheek. "Don't sulk. Now's your chance to mingle with mortals the way  
you've always wanted. Have some fun, why don't you?"

"Why, you sound like you're enjoying this."

"I am. It's been too long since I've been among mortals and I've missed it. And  
circus folk are a friendly lively bunch, once they get to know you. Now quit acting like the  
sky's falling down and smile, before you turn into an old crone." I ordered, shaking my finger  
in mock reproof.

That brought a smile to her face and she settled down to unpack, leaving me to groom  
the horses and meet some of our fellow travelers.

Matthew Turner was a tall lanky man in his late forties, sun-browned from a lifetime  
of exposure to the wind and the harsh prairie sun. He had close-cropped dark hair that was  
starting to silver at the temples and lively blue eyes that watched everything about him with  
the curiosity of a naturalist. When I'd first met him he was dressed in an ordinary pair of  
jeans and a cambric blue shirt, wearing boots and a gunbelt with a Colt revolver on his hip.  
A bright turquoise neckerchief kept the dust from his mouth, though his sombrero was  
hanging down his back.

I learned that he'd been born out West, the son of a cowboy drifter and a pretty Irish  
lass. He'd traveled with his parents all his life, as his father moved from ranch to ranch and  
job to job. Luckily that kind of rootless existence appealed to him and when he grew tired  
of hiring himself out as a cowpuncher at twenty-one, he'd joined a traveling Wild West show.  
He stayed just long enough to fall in love with the owner's daughter, marry her, and get her  
pregnant before striking out with his wife and his unborn child on his own. He planned to  
open his own show, a circus similar to that of P. T. Barnum and the Bailey brothers.

He'd started small, with a dog and pony act, but one that was nevertheless a hit in the  
small towns they went through. His wife, Alice, bore him a son named Matt. The boy later  
died of one of those spring fevers so common to youngsters here when he was only three.  
Alice never got over her child's death and only bore him another child afterwards, a daughter  
they called Marissa.

By then the act had grown and Matthew expanded, moving back east which was  
where the big crowds and money were. Before he became a true circus, he'd been a trick  
rider, doing an act with horses and a Brahma bull named Smokey. Alice was a dancer,  
schooled in ballet and the Spanish flamenco and they often combined acts.

Within three years they'd gathered a strong man, a few clowns, a Spaniard who did  
a killer dog act, and several new kinds of wildlife, including a camel, peacocks, a monkey or  
two and some large cats and a lion tamer. Later they acquired a troupe of acrobats, as well  
as a cook and a physician.

By then Matthew was growing dissatisfied with the big cities on the East Coast and  
longing for the grasslands of his youth. So he took his troupe back West. He didn't have the  
money to compete with such high class acts as Barnum's or Bailey's, and his wanderlust was  
itching to see new horizons.

So they returned to the Dakotas and wandered all over the Texas panhandle, Missouri,  
and the like. By this time his daughter Marissa was old enough to be introduced to the show,  
and at first she starred in an act with her mother, riding in front of Alice on a silvery horse  
wearing a dress of glitter and spangles. But that didn't last long, for Marissa was an intrepid  
soul, and soon she was begging her father to teach her how to ride standing up.

"She's a born horsewoman, my daughter," he'd told me proudly when he'd hired me.  
"She can ride anything with hooves and a tail."

Marissa had also learned how to dance from her mother and when she was ten she'd  
put together her own act as a bareback rider. Fourteen years later she was one of the premier  
bareback riders in the West, one of the few women in the country who could do a quadruple  
somersault off a galloping horse and land in one piece. She was billed as Marissa the  
Marvelous, and a truer sentiment was never spoken.

"Her Mama would've been right proud of her," the circus manager said softly, his  
blue eyes growing shadowed with an old sorrow. "But she never got a chance to see Marissa  
do that stunt, as she died of the quinsy when Rissa was twelve. Since then I've been raising  
her alone."

"Same as me," I said, jerking my head back at Bella, who was gazing curiously about  
her at the painted wagons and the wheeled cages with the lions, tigers, and panther in them.  
"I lost Bella's mother when she was just a baby and never felt right about marrying again, so  
it's been just us two for all of forever. She might not have a mother, but I made damn sure  
she got a good education."

"You sent her away to school then?" Matthew inquired, raising an eyebrow.

I shook my head. "Now, Mr. Turner, do I look like I've got money enough for a  
private school? Even in Norway, such things are only for the daughters of rich landowners.  
No, I tutored her myself. I was a university graduate."

Matthew nodded, looking pleased. "I always said an education is one of the most  
important things you could have. I never had much formal schooling, I was always moving  
when I was a kid, but I read everything I could get my hands on and my wife, she'd gone to  
a fancy academy when she was a girl and she taught me French and Italian. She was one  
sharp cookie, my Alice, and she taught Rissa her letters and numbers before she was five.  
Said simply cause we didn't live in a town was no reason to neglect our minds."

"I quite agree." I said and meant it. Some people might think that circus performers  
were uneducated rubes out to fleece honest folk, but I knew better. Matthew Turner was a  
s honest as sunlight and he insisted the people who worked for him be the same. He was also  
one of the most unprejudiced men I had ever met, hiring based on merit rather than  
background and skin color.

The family of acrobats and tightrope walkers who were with the show, the Flynns,  
were a band of Irish Gypsies, driven out of their native country by superstition and hate.  
Rumor had it that the Gypsies were the ones who forged the nails used to crucify Jesus and  
thus were condemned to wander the earth forever, shunned by all for their wicked deed.  
Nothing could be further from the truth. I knew that the Romans had no need to ask outsiders  
to make nails for them, they had plenty of decent smiths in the army. Very likely that rumor  
had been spread about in the Dark Ages as a means of stirring the populace against the  
traveling folk.

The Gypsies, often called tinkers because they mended tin pots and pans and  
sharpened knives, originated somewhere in India, from a mixture of races. They have since  
migrated out of Indian and spread throughout much of Europe. They were given the name  
"Gypsy" because the English thought they came from Egypt, hence the name Gyptian, which  
was shortened to Gypsy. This is considered a derogatory term among them. They call  
themselves Rom and they spoke their own language, Romani, and they had their own set of  
customs and beliefs which often didn't match with those of other people, whom they referred  
to as gadjikane, meaning foreigner in their language. The Rom had been wanders and traders  
long before the birth of Christ and would continue to be so long afterward, it was in their  
blood. Once they'd camped and lived on over half the Roman Empire, before so many settled  
people had come and displaced them.

The Rom were known chiefly for their skills in music, dancing, fortune-telling, horse  
trading, blacksmithing, and occasionally herbal potions, curses, and thievery. This last was  
an unfair label, for while some of the Rom did indeed delight in deceit and trickery to  
outsiders, most of them were a basically honest folk trying to earn a living.

Both Matthew and Marissa had a great respect for the Flynns, who were a mixture of  
the Irish Traveler and the Rom of Hungary. Marco, who was the head of the Flynn family,  
had taught the young Marissa how to perform several acrobatic stunts atop a horse, and his  
wife Esmerelda had served as her foster mother after she lost her own. Marco and Esmerelda  
had three children, their oldest, Maura, had since died of a fever. They still had a son, Nicco,  
who was around eighteen, and a younger daughter, Rowena, who was eleven. They also had  
a grandson, Hawk, who was the son of the late Maura, a nine-year-old scamp, his father had  
been a Cheyenne who'd been adopted by the Flynns after his own tribe had been massacred.  
Hawk's father was also dead, victim of the same fever that had killed his wife.

Bella and I were soon to become fast friends with the Romani Flynns, but more about  
that later. The Turners also had a Spaniard, Don Pedro was his stage name, and his wife  
Catalina, who performed a funny animal act consisting of five dogs and a marmalade cat.  
The dogs ranged in size from tiny white poodles (Charles and Antoinette) to a large collie  
(Laddie) and an even large Russian Wolfhound (Ivan) and then to a medium sized greyhound  
(Bolt). The cat was called Amber, and she was the cleverest cat I'd ever seen. The Pedros  
had taught her how to jump through a small hoop and ring a bell and even fetch a  
handkerchief, not to mention to ride atop Laddie and Ivan. The dogs were superbly trained  
as well, and all of them were treated like members of the family. Catalina often referred to  
them as her children, since she was unable to have any.

The third major act in the troupe, before I came there, was the lion tamer show. This  
was an exhibition of daring and skill performed by a British native of India who called  
himself Johnny Midnight. He was around twenty-six or so, broad shouldered with a devilish  
grin and curly dark hair with pale skin and brilliant amber eyes. He had grown up in India,  
the son of a British merchant who worked for the East India Company. His father had wanted  
him to go into the trade but Johnny refused, instead joining the army, and then when he'd  
tired of that, decided to raise big cats and start his own animal show. He'd been with the  
circus for about three years now.

His four cats had been raised from cubs by him, rescued from hunters and exotic  
animal dealers, and were remarkably tame and gentle for such animals. His huge black-  
maned African lion, Sahara, would sit with his head in his trainer's lap for hours, being petted  
and scratched, purring thunderously. There was also an Indian black panther, Bagheera,  
named after Kipling's famous panther, and the twin tigers, the orange Bengal Rajah and his  
white sister, Tundra. All the cats had their claws and fangs, for Johnny refused to remove  
them, saying they had been born with them for a reason and were as God had intended, to  
take them away was both cruel and unnecessary. Indeed, while I was with them, I never saw  
one of the cats offer so much as a playful nip to him or anyone else.

Bella loved the huge cats and could often be found near their cages, humming to them  
or talking in the silent speech of animals to them. Johnny was amazed at the rapport she had  
with them, for one and all of them would come up to the bars of the cage purring and let her  
pet and stroke them.

Bella was utterly unafraid of them, though she respected their strength, and it was well  
that Johnny never knew of her clandestine trips to the cages at midnight, where she would  
pick the locks on their cages and turn each one free to hunt alone in the moonlight.

"The time of the cat is at night," she told me once I'd discovered what she was up to.  
"They need exercise and the freedom to run. They get neither in those cages, comfortable  
as they are. There's no harm in letting them roam the prairie at night, it sates their need to  
hunt."

She had no fear the cats would not return, for she had extracted a promise that they  
were bound to keep before setting them free to hunt at night. They had given her their word  
to return before dawn and to stay away from the dwellings of men, of which there were little  
out here. They were extremely grateful to my daughter and in return they allowed her to take  
liberties with them that they permitted no one else save their human "father" Johnny. Bella  
could groom Sahara's thick black mane, and scratch Tundra beneath her chin, and play tag  
with Bagheera, and hand feed Rajah.

"She's got the touch awright," Johnny said to me one day while Bella was brushing  
Sahara. "Maybe she should be an animal trainer stead of a magician, eh?"

I shrugged, not bothering to tell him that Bella was born a magician and that was why  
she was so good with animals.

Jinx McDuff was the troupe's strong man, a giant of a man that had muscles that  
could have rivaled Thor's, but he was gentle and sweet. His wife, Marie, was the costume  
designer for the troupe, and she made all the clothes they wore for performances.

Other notable people were the three clowns, Bill, Miff, and Carl, who were masters  
of slapstick and could have gotten a laugh out of a stone. Then there was Mrs. Eliza Bailey,  
a widower who could cook dishes fit for the President himself.

There were only two members of the troupe I didn't like, and one of those was  
Aristotle Tims, the financier, a lanky man with a pinched expression that made him look as  
if he'd just swallowed a lemon. There was an air of the swindler about him that I noticed  
from the first, and I was almost certain he was cooking the books, but I never caught him at  
it. He was also the one who stood guard over the chest where Gungnir was, and he had a  
habit of looking down his nose at the rest of us who performed that irritated me profoundly.

The last member was Dr. Boswell, supposedly a physician with a degree from  
Harvard. I suspected he was nothing more than a drunken country practitioner, especially  
after the debacle with Hawk's arm. Still, a doctor was needed, for circus performers suffered  
more than their share of injuries, which was why Matthew had hired him.

But before I go into detail about that incident, let me tell you about the welcome I  
received from Hawk and his family.


	17. Among the Gypsies

**Among the Gypsies**

﻿When Bella and I reached the circus wagons, it was  
nearing dusk and the wagons had camped for the night alongside a quick flowing creek so  
they could easily water their animals and themselves. The Flynns Rom upbringing insisted  
on this, for no Rom will take a bath in a tub, only in running water. Water in a bath is  
considered unclean, since it sits stagnant. The Rom have many taboos regarding water, not  
the least is that water used for cooking and washing must be kept separate, and this extends  
to separate buckets for the washing of men and women's clothing too. So much for the old  
superstition that Gypsies are unclean, dirty folk.

I'd signed a contract with Matthew regarding my services and the money I'd be  
paid—it amounted to about three dollars a week, including food and the use of a wagon for  
our room, which was a decent wage for those times. Of course I didn't need the money, but  
I took it, since it would have seemed odd not to. Once that matter was settled and our names  
entered in the big ledger under the parsimonious eye of Mr. Tims, Mr. Turner told me to go  
around and introduce myself to the rest of the company.

Half of them had already come to see the newest recruits to Turner's Traveling  
Circus, but the Flynns were busy gathering water for their supper and picketing their shaggy  
Vanner horses for the night. The Flynns mostly preferred to eat by themselves, since some  
of the troupe bore resentment towards the Rom, namely Mr. Tims and Dr. Boswell.

I beckoned to Bella and we approached the vardo, which is the name the Rom give  
to their wheeled houses, a large roomy conveyance painted with brightly colored flowers and  
twining vines. The two shaggy Vanner horses were already grazing on picket lines nearby.  
They were medium sized draft horses with huge liquid eyes and extra long manes and tails.  
Their hooves bore long silky feathers on them and they were most often a pinto color, that  
is white with black splotches or brown. The Vanner breed is known chiefly for its strength,  
hardiness, and gentle temperament. A Vanner is expected to pull the family's wagon  
throughout the day, yet be calm enough to use as a mount for the children at the day's end.  
The Rom bred for tolerance and calmness in their horses, a horse that was too aggressive or  
skittish was usually sold. Despite their calm temperament, the Vanner were intelligent, and  
the Rom often used them as "watchdogs", training them to guard the vardo at night and snort  
or whinny if a stranger came by.

A boy with hair the black of a crow's wing was carefully picking out a hoof the size  
of a saucer, and the horse was grazing calmly, totally unruffled by the procedure. He was  
small and wiry, with skin the color of copper and he was dressed in a loose chambray shirt  
and worn buckskin leggings and moccasins. His hair was pulled back in a tail and he spoke  
softly to the big horse as he worked, muttering endearments in Romani. The Rom cherished  
their animals and considered it a sin to hurt one, especially horses.

The Vanner stallion, whose name was Merrow, after an Irish water sprite, merely  
snorted softly and lifted his head as we walked up. The boy, ever alert to the horse's signals,  
dropped the hoof and straightened, eyeing us with blatant curiosity, tucking the hoof pick in  
his breeches' pocket.

He gave us an elaborate bow, such as one might an honored guest, and smiling  
charmingly said, "Sastipe to you fair strangers and welcome to the Flynn vardo. I'm Hawk,  
at your service."

I returned the greeting. "Sastipe to you and yours, young man. My name is Loki  
Sigurdson and this is my daughter Bella. We're the new magician and assistant to Turner's  
circus." The greeting I'd just exchanged with him means simply, good luck and good health  
in Romani.

"You speak Romani?" he asked, his eyes widening. "That's rare for a gadje to know  
the language of the People."

"Very little," I grinned, bowing in return. "Only a few phrases here and there."

Bella bowed too, then turned to me and said, "What's this, Father? A language you  
don't know? How amazing."

"There are many languages I don't know, cara," I said, calling her the Italian for  
darling.

"How many languages do you speak?" the boy asked boldly.

"Ah, close to fourteen, I think, last time I counted."

He whistled loudly. "Saint Brigid and all her angels! You're a regular professor." He  
scratched his head. "How d'you keep them all straight? I've got enough trouble with learning  
English and Romani."

"That's because you've got the mind of a chikria bird, little grandson, easily  
distracted," came a woman's soft voice from the entrance to the vardo. "Where's your  
manners, boy? Not to tell me we've got guests so I can put an extra plate at the table."

The boy ducked his head in apology, then he flashed her a grin that would have  
melted a heart of stone. "I was just getting to that, Granny. Honest."

"Sure you were," she said with a small laugh. Then she turned to us. "Welcome to  
our vardo, sir. Won't you come in and share supper with us, you and your lovely daughter  
both? I'm Esmerelda Flynn and this scalawag here is my grandson, Hawk."

Esmerelda was around the same age as Matthew Turner, though her hair was still the  
black of a rook's feathers. She wore it piled atop her head in a neat bun and covered with a  
diklo of cardinal red, since a mature Romani woman is never seen in public without a head  
scarf. She had a ruffled blouse of deep saffron and a skirt with layered ruffles in yellow, blue  
and red and a blue sash about her waist. Leather moccasins peeped from beneath her full  
hem, decorated with colorful beads. The Rom love colors, especially on clothing.

She also had several bracelets of gold and silver on each wrist and earrings and three  
chains as well, since they love jewelry.

"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, ma'am," I said, bowing to her and removing  
my hat. "My name is Loki Sigurson and this is Bella, my daughter."

"And a fine looking one she is too," Esmerelda beamed. "Welcome, child, to my  
vardo. Sastipe!"

Bella smiled back, it was impossible not to like Esmerelda, she had the same  
charming manner as her rascal of a grandson. "You are most kind, ma'am."

"And whyever shouldn't I be?" Esmerelda snorted, waving us up the wooden stairs  
and inside the wagon. "'Tis only proper to feed a hungry traveler, though you aren't travelers  
if I know Matthew Turner, but new troupe members."

"That's so, mistress," I said, walking into the roomy dining area which had a table that  
folded into the side of the wagon when not in use and several chairs and stools about it. The  
place was neat and clean and the smell of some kind of savory stew set in the middle of the  
table was making my mouth water. "I'm a magician by trade and my daughter is my  
assistant."

"Indeed, and a worthy trade it is," Esmerelda said approvingly. Unlike most other  
folk, the Rom have no fear of magic. In fact they revere and respect those who practice it,  
provided the magic done is white and not black. "We've been needing a magician for a long  
time now." She gestured at the chairs. "Sit you down now and soon enough we can eat, once  
my husband and my son and daughter come in."

Hawk came bounding into the wagon, his dark eyes twinkling. Esmerelda frowned  
and said, "Best you change that shirt before supper, lad, you smell like horse."

"And what else would I be smelling of, seeing as I've just groomed Merrow and  
Shannon?" her grandson replied impudently.

"Off with you now, you wretched imp, and none of your mouth," Esmerelda ordered,  
but she was smiling as she shooed the boy away behind the heavy red curtain where the  
family sleeping quarters were.

The imp returned in a few minutes with a clean shirt and new breeches. He  
obediently held out his hands for his grandmother's eagle-eyed inspection, she eyed them and  
his face critically before proclaiming him fit to sit at the table. In due course we heard the  
others splashing away at the wash pails and then coming inside to greet us and sit down to  
supper.

Marco was a slender man, but his muscles were whipcord over steel and he had the  
compact build of a classic acrobat. Like his grandson, he had wavy black hair, but it had  
reddish highlights in it. He was classic Black Irish, dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, and creamy  
golden skin.

He kissed his wife on his way to the table, saying, "We had ourselves a good practice  
today, my darling. No major mistakes and no missed catches." He was wearing trousers and  
a shirt much like my own.

His son Nicco was dressed similarly and looked much like him, save for being an inch  
or so taller. "Guests for supper now, is it?" he raised an eyebrow and came forward to shake  
my hand and bow over Bella's. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Nicco Flynn."

Introductions were made all around and we sat down to eat, with little Rowena next  
to Bella and Hawk. Rowena was a smaller version of her mother, with large eyes with long  
lashes and gentle smile. She was wearing tights and a one-piece body suit, for she was an  
acrobat like her father, brother, and nephew. She would continue to perform until she was  
officially a woman, after that she would have to be regulated to wearing a woman's long  
skirts as was proper for a Romani female. She wore her sleek black hair braided about her  
head and tied with colorful ribbons of red and blue.

Supper consisted of sarmi—a stuffed cabbage dish which contained ground beef, rice,  
egg, and spicy peppers in a red sauce. This was a Romani specialty and it was delicious. We  
also had fresh baked bread, a crumbly soft cheese, and peas and onions in a creamy sauce.  
In honor of our arrival, Marco produced a bottle of fruity wine, and we drank a toast and  
afterwards finished off the meal with spring water. Despite popular belief, most Romani do  
not drink alcohol regularly.

Conversation about the table was spoken in English for our benefit, though a few  
times the children lapsed into Romani and were promptly scolded by their father. "Mind your  
manners, 'tis impolite to speak a tongue your guest can't understand."

This drew blushes from Nicco and Rowena, though Hawk simply shrugged, though  
thereafter they were careful to speak in English, which all of them spoke fluently.

"Bella is an unusual name," Nicco said, eyeing my daughter appreciatively. "Does  
it mean something?"

"It does. It means beautiful in Italian," Bella answered with a faint smile.

"It fits you then," Hawk spoke up. "Isn't that so, Uncle Nicco?"

Poor Nicco went bright red and glared at his nephew. "Hush your trap, Hawk!" he  
hissed, nudging the boy in the ribs.

"I think it's a lovely name," his mother said, coming to his rescue. "Who chose it,  
you or your wife?"

"I did," I answered. "Though my wife approved of it too, before she went to meet her  
Maker."

"You've not got a mother either?" Hawk asked. "Mine died too, of a fever, and so  
did my dad, but I was just a baby and can't remember them."

"Our oldest daughter, Maura, and her husband White Owl, took sick some seven years  
past," Marco explained, his voice soft with sorrow.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, for I could only imagine the pain he must have felt at  
losing a child. "It is a hard thing to lose a child."

"Aye. But at least we have her son left of her," the man said, and he winked at his  
grandson. "Tis a great comfort, as I'm sure you'll agree."

I nodded and smiled at Bella. "No doubt of that, my friend. I thank God daily for  
Bella."

"Rowena, Hawk, help me clear the table, then we'll have coffee and dessert,"  
Esmerelda ordered and the two youngest members of the household rose and began gathering  
up plates and utensils without protest. All Rom learn the meaning of work at a young age,  
boys as well as girls.

We chatted amiably with Marco and Nicco, telling them about our home in Norway  
and how long the voyage was to get here. Bella can embroidered a story as well as I can, and  
she took her cues from me, and we managed to keep our fictional voyage believable.

By the time we'd reached the end of that story, Esmerelda was ready with a pot of  
freshly brewed coffee, which they drank heavily sugared and with lots of milk for the younger  
members and the women, black for the men and myself. Dessert was galushki—a delicious  
confection of sweet dumplings stuffed with almonds and sugar boiled in milk and served with  
a thin cream syrup.

Apparently all of her family had a sweet tooth, for Esmerelda had made enough of  
them to feed the entire troupe, and all of us stuffed ourselves.

"I've never tasted anything so good in my life," Bella exclaimed, eating her third  
galush. "Please, would you show me how to make them, Mrs. Flynn?"

"Esmerelda, child," the older woman corrected. "And of course I'd be happy to.  
We'll exchange recipes tomorrow, I'm sure you know how to make some Norwegian dishes  
I've never had. Rowena and I always enjoy learning new ways to cook, don't we, lass?"

Rowena smiled shyly and nodded.

We ended the evening by going outside and telling stories by the roaring fire Marco  
had lit, swapping tall tales of Romani and Scandinavian origin until Hawk and Rowena were  
sleepy and then we bid our new friends goodnight and made our way back to our own wagon.

The wagon was equipped with a straw and feather ticking and I slept better on that  
mattress than I had since leaving Asgard.

* * * * * *  
Despite the friendliness shown by the Flynns, the Rom family was not made welcome  
by all of the troupe. Only Matthew and Marissa were regular guests at the Flynn wagon,  
though none save the doctor and Mr. Tims were openly disdainful of them. Everyone else  
was polite, if not particularly welcoming.

"They are gadje," Marco snorted. "What can you expect?" Then he colored faintly  
and said, "That does not include you or Bella, Loki, nor the Turners. You are friends and  
Matthew and Rissa are like members of my family. The rest are gajikane, without manners,  
as you see."

"Bunch of bigoted idiots," I muttered and Marco chuckled.

"It has always been the lot of the Romani to be misunderstood and persecuted. It is  
the burden God gave us to carry and we can but bear it with grace, even as He did so long  
ago. Come, my friend, watch this next tumbling run and tell me if it looks good."

Marco and his family were superb acrobats and tightrope walkers, even little Hawk,  
graceful as cats and utterly fearless. They practiced for hours in the mornings and late  
afternoons, revising and refining their routine until each member knew his or her part  
instinctively. They were consummate artists as well as incredible athletes.

Marco told me that one learns acrobatics very young among the Rom, for the child's  
body is the most flexible, especially at four and five, when he taught both his daughters,  
Nicco, Marissa, and now Hawk how to tumble and do back handsprings and cartwheels.  
Even so, the acrobat did occasionally suffer strained muscles and other injuries from landing  
wrong or mistiming a jump.

All the Flynns, save for Hawk, had suffered sprains, cuts, bruises, and strained tendons  
during their career, such was a hazard of their profession. They had avoided more serious  
injuries because Marco insisted on total concentration and focus when doing a routine, for  
it was when an acrobat lost focus or was playing about that the serious injuries such as broken  
bones or death, occurred.

Hawk, I can only assume, knew the value of concentration when doing a routine, that  
was something I'd seen and heard Marco stress repeatedly during the practices I'd watched.  
The boy was smart, he understood the reasons behind his grandfather's dictates. But like all  
boys, there was a need in him to test those same dictates. That was what he did that fateful  
morning, when his family was not there to caution him.

Esmerelda and Rowena had gone into the market close by where we'd picketed our  
wagons, probably to buy supplies for their household and to engage in that favorite of all a  
woman's past times, shopping. Marco had taken Nicco away as well, to trade for something,  
I can't recall what now. In any case, they'd left Hawk back at the vardo. Such was not  
unusual, the boy was old enough not to stray outside of the camp and to be trusted not to get  
into any mischief. Then too, neither of the adults probably intended to be gone for more than  
a few hours, having departed early in the morning, and left the boy sleeping. Had he been  
like more boys his age, he'd have remained so till his family returned.

But Hawk was restless and impetuous, and preferred being awake to being asleep.  
He awoke barely an hour after the rest of the Flynns had departed, he told me later, and fixed  
himself a light breakfast of toast with melted cheese, fruit, and a glass of water. Then, bored  
with being in the confines of the wagon, and being a naturally active child, he left and went  
towards the practice tent, which was where he and other members of the troupe went to hone  
their routines.

He said he'd only meant to practice a few tumbling passes, but when he got there  
Marissa was exercising Rocket, her splendid silver horse, and working out a new set of  
balancing routines. He had always admired the way the young woman could do flips on top  
of her horse, though Marco had made him promise never to try it without his permission.

Hawk, being Hawk, chose to forget about that promise.

He went back to the vardo and untethered the young gelding Banner from the picket  
line. Banner was not a draft horse, but a cross between a warm-blooded Standardbred and  
a gypsy cob. He was sleeker and smaller than his Vanner cousins, though like them, he was  
gentle and even-tempered and not prone to shy at loud noises or little boys climbing on his  
back.

Hawk rode Banner back into the practice ring just as Marissa was leaving it. I don't  
know what he told her, but she started to lead her tired Rocket back to his picket for a drink  
and a grooming, leaving the daring boy alone with Banner.

Hawk admitted later to me and his grandfather that he tried a double somersault off  
the back of his patient mount, a trick he'd done a dozen times before with a spotter to catch  
him. This time, however, there was no adult there.

And the boy misjudged the speed of his fall and landed awkwardly, breaking his left  
arm.

**Okay, I know, this is a cliffie, it was deliberate, to see how many people are actually reading this story. If you are, review and let me know if you want me to put up another chapter tomorrow.**


	18. The Rewards of Kindness

**The Rewards of Kindness**

﻿The first I learned of the events I have previously written was when I heard Hawk  
screaming, more from sheer terror than pain. Bella and I were just sitting down to a leisurely  
breakfast of cornmeal mush sweetened with maple syrup, some fried ham, and a pot of coffee  
when we heard the unmistakable cry of a person in pain.

Both of us jerked upright as if we'd been shot, exchanging glances of surprise and  
concern. "Did you hear that, Father?" Bella demanded. "It sounded like someone in mortal  
agony."

I had already risen to my feet, my immortal senses quivering. "Let's go and see what  
the hell's making that noise," I said and in two strides I was out the door and jumping down  
the stairs of my wagon. Bella followed almost on my heels.

The scream was repeated and I headed in the direction it had come from, somewhere  
up the line from my wagon. Before we'd gone past the chuck wagon, a flustered Marissa  
appeared in front of me, her eyes bright with alarm.

"Loki, you've got to help me. Hawk fell off his horse and broke his arm and that  
jackass Dr. Boswell's threatening to cut it off. He says the arm's too badly broken to save."

"He's threatening to _what_?" I repeated, astonished at the callousness of the doctor in  
even mentioning such a thing in front of a child, much less threatening to do it. "Where is  
he?"

"In Boswell's wagon. This way." Marissa pointed then we followed at a dead run.  
"I tried to tell Boswell that he couldn't do such a thing, an acrobat needs his arms to perform,  
but he wouldn't listen. And Marco and the rest are gone into town and so is my father. I was  
going to get Johnny, but then I saw you. Maybe_ you_ can get him to see reason."

Hawk's yells had brought Don Pedro and Mrs. Bailey to investigate, but none of them  
were as quick as I was in reaching the doctor's wagon. I all but outran Marissa at the last,  
jumping right up the steps and flinging open the door, making the whole wagon shake.

I took in the room rapidly, there was a table, a chair, and a black bag from which Dr.  
Boswell was extracting something shiny and pointed. He dropped it when I entered, staring  
at me as if I was the devil himself.

Hawk was crouched in a corner, shivering and crying, his eyes glazed like that of a  
wild animal caught in a trap. He cradled his arm in his opposite hand. "Help!" he sobbed  
when he caught sight of me. "H-he wants to cut off my arm, Loki! Please, _please_ don't let  
him."

"What the blazes are you doing to the kid, Boswell?" I snarled, my eyes sparking.  
"Surely you know how to set a broken bone, don't you, with your fancy Harvard degree?" I  
moved around the table, putting myself in front of the stricken youngster.

Boswell straightened, looking quite annoyed. "How dare you come into my home  
unannounced, Sigurdson? This is none of your affair, _I'm_ the physician here, so just move  
along and let me tend to my patient."

"No!" Hawk screamed. "You ain't gonna cut off my arm, you stupid _gadje_!"

"Hush," I ordered softly. "No one's going to cut anything off you, Hawk. I promise."  
I returned my gaze to the portly doctor, who was standing like an indignant pig before me in  
his black frock coat and trousers, his shirt stained with food and what was undoubtedly  
whiskey. In fact, the fool reeked of strong spirits.

By this time Bella and Marissa had entered the wagon too, pale but determined to aid  
me. I didn't need their help however. I was more than capable of dealing with this idiot son  
of a donkey's ass. "Have you even _examined _his arm, Doctor?" I said, my voice rich with  
scorn. "Last I heard, amputation is only used as a last resort, on a battlefield where you can't  
spare time to set a bone properly."

"What would _you_ know about it, Mr. Magician? I'm the doctor, not you." Boswell  
blustered. "Now step aside and let me do what I'm paid for. The little half-breed bastard bit  
me when I went to look at his arm."

"Was that before or after you told him you were going to cut it off, you drunken sot?"  
I growled. "Look at you, sir! You're so drunk you can't even stand up straight, much less  
diagnose reliably. You're a damned disgrace, Boswell."

"Now see here, sir . . ." Boswell cried, and made as if to go around me.

I grabbed hold of his shirt and lifted him off the ground.

"No, _you_ see here, you miserable excuse for a human being. You're not fit to treat  
a crippled donkey much less anyone else. Now get out, you drunken bastard, before I throw  
you out." My fingers itched to throw a spell on him, give him the ears of an ass or the tail of  
a pig or the head of a sheep, but I reined in my temper by the slimmest of margins.

Boswell twisted in my grip. "You can't do this!" he squealed feebly. "This is my  
home, he's my patient, you rude ignorant lout! I demand you release me this instant."

I did so, but I spun him around and shoved him towards the open door of the wagon  
before he could protest. "Out! Tell it to someone who cares," I growled and practically  
knocked him down the steps. Then I slammed the door shut and bolted it.

"How on earth did your father ever hire such an incompetent ass?" I demanded of  
Marissa.

"I don't know," she said, and lowered her head as if ashamed.

But I had no time for her then, for all of my attention was now focused on the  
trembling boy in the corner, half curled in a ball with his injured arm cradled close to his  
chest. I stalked, soft-footed as a cat, around the table and kneeled before him.

"Hawk. Look at me, son."

Slowly, hesitantly, he did, his eyes wide and bright with tears, fear flickering in their  
depths. "Is—is he gone?"

"Yeah." I helped him to his feet. "Come over here. I promise nobody's going to cut  
off your arm. But I need you to relax and let Bella take a look at your arm, okay?"

He began to shake again. "Will it hurt?"

"Not a bit," my daughter chimed in, giving him one of her famous smiles. "In fact,  
you won't feel anything at all if you let my father hypnotize you with his ruby pendant."

I catch her eye and nod slowly, for I was just thinking of a way to get the kid to calm  
down so she could examine his arm without him getting hysterical. Of course, the ruby  
pendant wouldn't actually hypnotize him, it would serve as a focus for his attention while I  
slipped into his mind and put him to sleep with a spell.

Hawk gave me an uncertain look, but he sat in the chair when I told him to. Then I  
took the ruby pendant from around my neck and hold it out at eye level in front of him. Then  
I began to swing it back and forth like a pendulum. "Look at the ruby, son. That's it. Now  
keep looking, look deep into it. See how it sparkles? See how the light catches it and makes  
it glow like fire? Good. Now as you look into the ruby, you'll feel your eyes growing heavy.  
Let them close." I intoned, keeping my voice to a low soothing hum. While Hawk was  
focused on the ruby, I slipped my mind into his and wove a sleep charm into his mind.  
Within seconds he was snoring gently. Then I tapped into the nerves in his injured arm and  
gently shut them down long enough for Bella to examine and set the arm.

"Will he really stay asleep?" Marissa asked softly.

"Yes. And he won't feel anything either," I said. "Bella's more than just my  
assistant. She's also a pretty decent healer."

"I know enough to see that this isn't even a serious break," Bella said, examining the  
boy's arm. "It's a greenstick fracture, Father. One of the simplest kinds to mend. And to  
think, that—that dumbass would have cut his arm off!"

"Can I do anything to help?" Marissa asked.

Bella told her to get some bandages and splints out of the doctor's bag and while she  
was doing that, my daughter set the arm. Marissa returned with the splints and Bella splinted  
and bandaged the arm and put it in a sling. She also sent a brief healing pulse into the injured  
limb, knitting the bone together so it would heal quicker than normal. I knew if we'd been  
in Asgard she would have simply healed it all the way with magic, but we couldn't do that  
here.

"There. All done." She announced.

I released the pain blocks on the child and picked him up, careful not to jostle his arm.  
"I'll bring him back to his _vardo_, he should sleep for a few hours and then wake up. Bella,  
do you have any pain reliever I can dose him with? That arm will be hurting by then."

"I can get some from our supplies," she said, and departed to do so.

I carried the sleeping child outside, ignoring the hostile glare of the doctor and the  
curious ones of the cook and the dog trainer. Marissa followed, closing the door behind her.

We said nothing on the way back to the Flynn wagon, though I sensed that Marissa  
was bursting with questions. But she waited until we were inside the wagon, away from  
watching eyes and gossipy tongues, to ask them.

I set the sleeping child down on his bed, placing the splinted arm carefully outside the  
covers, which I tucked up round him. Then I drew the curtain which separated the sleeping  
quarters from the rest of the dining area and returned to where Marissa was seated on a chair.

"Is he asleep still?"

I nodded. "Out like a light. And he'll stay that way for a good while. I'm going to  
stay here until Esmerelda and Rowena return, so I can explain what happened." I seated myself  
opposite her, resting my hands on the table top.

"I feel as if I'm to blame somehow," she admitted, her sky blue eyes filled with regret.  
"I was practicing there when he came in with Banner, I should have stayed and made sure he  
wasn't up to anything. But I was so busy concentrating on the rest of what I had to do later  
that I didn't think and I left him alone."

"You can't blame yourself, Marissa," I said calmly. "Accidents happen, especially  
to kids his age. He's a born daredevil. Reminds me a bit of myself way back when."

"Oh? And how many bones did you break, Mr. Sigurdson?"

"Not one," I chuckled. "But that was due to luck, not for lack of trying. Besides, as  
Bella said, this wasn't a bad break. It could have been a lot worse. I've known people to  
break their necks falling off a horse."

"Yes. That's one of the dangers of my profession. But I learned long ago how to fall  
off and not injure myself seriously. It's one of the first things a trick rider learns. But there's  
always an element of danger. It's why not many women will be bareback riders much past  
their twenties, because the older you get, the harder it is to avoid an injury that could kill or  
cripple you."

"Stunt riding is a game for the young and reckless, huh?" I teased, giving her a slow  
smile.

"You could say that, I suppose." She shifted in her seat. She was still wearing her  
exercise outfit, tights and a large tunic-like shirt that came down to mid-thigh. Her dark hair  
was pulled back into a tail that reached the middle of her back. "I didn't know magicians  
knew so much about medicine."

"Normally we don't," I said slowly, not wanting to reveal too much. "But I'm an  
exception. I used to be a doctor back in Norway, before my wife died and I decided to turn  
to magic as a way to forget her loss. I taught Bella some of what I knew, and she's a better  
instinctive healer than even I am."

"Was it because you couldn't save your wife that you stopped being a doctor?"  
Marissa queried, then went red. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. It's none of my  
business."

I waved off her apology, though I couldn't help noticing that the blush brought an  
attractive hint of red to her cheeks. "No offense taken, Marissa. For that's pretty much what  
happened. Bella was just a little child when my wife died, so she doesn't really remember  
her. And being a physician is a demanding occupation, and I had a daughter to raise by  
myself, so I decided to leave my practice and become a traveling magician," I improvised  
quickly. Sometimes I lie so well I nearly believe my own lies. "That way I could escape my  
memories and take my daughter with me wherever I went. I find it just as rewarding as being  
a doctor, and I don't have to worry about patients dying on me."

Marissa cocked her head a little, considering what I'd told her. "That makes sense,  
I guess. But I think the way you handled that self-righteous ass was wonderful, Loki. Dr.  
Bozo—that's what we call him behind his back—had that coming for a long time. He only  
said that to poor Hawk cause he's a half-breed, and the good doctor thinks his sort aren't  
worthy of decent treatment like the rest of us white folks," Marissa declared, her voice rich  
with scorn. "Him and Mr. Tims consider Indians and half-breeds the lowest form of life on  
earth. Says they're savages without human feelings, no better than animals. Mr. Tims once  
said to Marco that he oughta have given the boy away rather than raise him as a member of his  
family, since a half-breed was a stain on his honor."

I bit back a laugh. "I can imagine what Marco said to that." For the Rom acrobat was  
an easy-going individual save when his family was insulted and threatened. Then, look out  
world!

Marissa flashed me a conspiratorial grin, like an eager child with a secret. "You  
should have seen him, Loki. I thought he was going to grab him and shove him in the cage  
with the tigers, he was that mad. He told Tims that he had the heart of a jackal and the  
courage of an ant to even suggest such a thing, and the next time he said anything like that,  
_gadje _or no _gadje_, Marco was going to beat him senseless and stake him out in the sun until  
he learned to keep his mouth shut. He scared Tims so bad that he nearly wet himself right  
there. And when Tims tried to complain to my father about the irrational people he  
employed, Pa told him that a wise man keeps his opinions to himself and a fool blabs his  
mouth all over the place and that was the end of it. I don't think Tims ever forgave Marco  
for humiliating him like that, or Pa for sticking up for the Flynns." She scowled. "I don't  
trust that snake Tims as far as he can run and he can barely run a mile, he's so lazy. I've told  
Pa time and again to get rid of him, but he says Tims is so good with the accounts he doesn't  
know where we could find another willing to travel with us."

While Marissa was speaking, I had been eyeing her covertly from beneath my lashes.  
She was not the kind of woman who made men stop dead in the street or point at her from  
afar. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, in fact she was refreshingly ordinary.  
Her hair and her eyes were her best features, she had the most arresting pair of blue eyes I'd  
ever seen and her hair was a deep sealskin brown with tiny reddish highlights in it. Her skin  
was a light bronze color from being out in the sun and her body was firm with muscle from  
all the acrobatics and riding. But she was not beautiful like the women of Asgard, though  
there was something undefinable that drew my gaze.

I felt myself heating up with a desire I'd not known since Sigyn and I had parted ways  
long before. I tried to ignore it, telling myself quite firmly that the very last thing I needed  
was to develop an infatuation with a mortal woman, especially one I'd never see again once  
I'd snatched Gungnir and disappeared. But my heart has always been a most wayward  
creature and it took great delight in ignoring my head.

We continued to chat amiably for the rest of the hour, and I told her some amusing  
stories of Norway and the customs there and she in turn swapped tales of her own experiences  
traveling across the prairie until Esmerelda and Rowena arrived home. I told them what had  
happened and both of them assured me they would take care of Hawk now and thanked me  
profoundly for my timely intervention.

In fact, the whole family was so grateful that Marco declared Bella and me honorary  
members of his household and said we had an open invitation to the vardo. That simple act  
of gratitude and kindness, done so casually, touched me more profoundly that any gift of gold  
ever could have. Always before, my efforts at healing my fellow immortals had been given  
grudging respect at best, and not once had any save Baldur ever said thank you for my help.  
Yet here was this itinerant Gypsy who lived out of the back of a wagon showing more honest  
gratitude than any of those who'd once called themselves gods.

Even Matthew Turner praised my quick actions and Bella's neat handiwork, making  
Dr. Boswell grumble like thunder and cast baleful looks in my direction when I wasn't  
looking. Not that I need the praise, I did what I did because I felt it was right, but it's always  
nice to be appreciated. Such are the rewards of kindness, I thought later on that night as I lay  
in my bed.

For some reason I found myself thinking of Jesus, who had gone about healing people  
and was often feared because of it as well, yet he continued doing so because he felt he had  
to. Kindness has its own reward in heaven, he'd said once to me.

I fell asleep dreaming of a shining light and out of it stepped Marissa, who held out  
her hands to me and then embraced me like a long lost lover.

I woke sweating, the covers twisted about me, and my arms clasping nothing but air.  
Cursing myself roundly for a besotted idiot, I untangled myself, summoned a cool wind to  
banish the sticky heat that hovered over me like a shroud, then went back to sleep, resolving  
not to think of Marissa as anything but a fellow performer. I'd protected my heart too long  
to risk it falling in love with a mortal. Such a match was doomed before it ever began.  
I was here to rescue the spear, not to go courting a bareback rider, no matter if she  
made the forgotten places in my heart beat insanely. Such a love could not last. We were too  
different and she could never know the truth. A relationship built on lies is like a house built  
on sand, it will collapse at the first big wave. I was too smart to be caught in that trap, I  
thought smugly.


	19. Conflicting Hearts

**Conflicting Hearts**

﻿The next morning, I arose full of newfound determination to put that restless night of  
dreams behind me. It was becoming dangerous for me to linger here, I was starting to  
become too attached to these mortals, something I had never allowed to happen, not even  
when I lived in ancient Rome. Then I'd had casual acquaintances and colleagues, but no one  
I could call a friend. Out here though it was different. I genuinely liked Marco, Esmerelda,  
and the rest of the Flynns. I even liked Matthew and as for his daughter, well she stirred  
feelings in me that were best left alone.

I knew I should just tell Bella it was time to get the spear and leave, forget about  
confronting her faithless man and just return to Asgard. That would have been the sensible  
thing to do. Yet I found myself reluctant to do so. The spear wasn't going anywhere, in fact  
it was quite securely bound inside of its wood and iron chest. I had managed to slip inside  
the paychest wagon one day and examined the chest with my magical Sight, discovering that  
Leif had taken the precaution of casting wards of protection and dampening on the chest,  
muffling the aura Gungnir radiated. That was precisely what I'd have done if I'd taken the  
spear and wanted to hide it and mitigate its influence on mortals. The only reason I was able  
to sense it was because I knew what I was looking for.

Leif must be close by, probably in the shape of some animal or other, but when I  
attempted to look for a trace of his mage sigil, I couldn't find it. He had learned his lessons  
too well, I though with a soft curse. We'd been with the circus for almost three weeks and  
in all that time he'd not shown himself once. I decided to give it a month, then I was going  
to break the wards on the chest and take Gungnir and return to Asgard. A week or more  
wouldn't hurt anything, I reasoned. I'd finish this round of shows then regretfully give  
Matthew my resignation. I could have just up and disappeared, the way I'd done before, but  
again I found myself strangely reluctant to play the circus folk for fools. They had treated me  
decently, accepting my persona as Sigurdson at face value. They had appreciated me for my  
medical skills and my expertise in sleight of hand. With the exception of Boswell, the  
drunken sot, and Tims, who I was sure was skimming money, I enjoyed the company of my  
fellow performers more than I'd ever thought possible. So much so that I wished it would  
never end.

It was a fool's wish, a child's dream, wishing for that, I scolded myself sternly. I  
knew better, I was far too old and cynical to wish for something so fleeting as true friendship  
with people not of my kind. Yet a part of me wished that I did not need to play this elaborate  
charade, that I could cast aside the mask and reveal my true self.

And then I'd be burned for a witch or locked up in an asylum, I reminded myself with  
a sneer. For who believed in the existence of Norse gods or immortals anymore? Hell, no  
one believed in magic anymore, not even when I practiced it right under their noses.

Except maybe Esmerelda. The Rom had always been more attuned to the arcane than  
the rest of mortals. Still, I doubted whether even she would believe me if I told her the truth.  
In this case, lies were more believable.

Nothing good lasts forever, Loki. I reminded myself ruthlessly. You know that, you  
learned it long ago, it's the story of your life. Indeed the single thing in my life that had  
lasted was my love for my daughter and hers for me. That and perhaps my friendship with  
Baldur and Odin. Three relationships, in all of my long life, that had lasted. They had always  
been enough before.

Yet now I found myself wanting more.

I opened the door of my wagon and stepped outside, yawning in the crisp morning air.  
The circus wagons always halted some distance from the town proper, to avoid frightening  
the townsfolk with our odd array of animals and also to give us some privacy to practice our  
routines without being interrupted continuously with questions. Bella was not in her bed and  
I assumed she'd gone to have breakfast in the Flynn's vardo.

I walked over to pet Heror, who was picketed near the wagon. The stallion buried his  
nose in my shirt, whickering me a good morning. "It's a beautiful morning, Loki." Heror  
snuffled. "Shall we go for a ride later?"

"Yes. I'd like that, my friend," I whispered softly in Norse. "Maybe after breakfast."

"I've already eaten. Bella fed us," the black horse told me.

"Well, I haven't and I'm hungry." I stroked his thick forelock once more, then turned  
towards the Flynn's vardo. Before I'd gone two steps, I heard someone call my name.

"Loki! Wait, please."

I turned, for it was Marissa calling me. She was wearing her spangled bareback rider  
costume, so I knew she'd been practicing her routine. It was a one piece suit of bright blue  
with a ruffled red and white skirt and the ends of the sleeves had small ruffles of white lace  
as well. Her dark hair was tied up behind her head in a neat bun and her feet were encased  
in soft leather slippers that had chalk rubbed into the soles to give her better purchase on her  
horse's back.

"What's wrong, Marissa?" I asked, noting the worried expression in her large eyes.

"It's Rocket. I think he's pulled a tendon or something. I was working with him this  
morning and just as I finished my double flip he went off stride."

"Did you check his hooves? Maybe he needs new shoes or something."

"That was the first thing I did. But he had no stones and his shoes were just resized  
last week. And the ground in the arena is smooth, so he couldn't trip."

"Was he limping that you noticed?" I queried, following her back to where she'd left  
her mount tied inside the tent where she practiced her maneuvers.

"Not really. But I could feel he wasn't moving right. He was favoring his right hoof  
slightly." Marissa reported.

I didn't bother to question her veracity, a bareback rider knows her mount intimately,  
she has to in order to perform the kinds of dangerous stunts she does. When we reached the  
arena, I could see that Marissa's diagnosis had been correct, the silver gelding was favoring  
his right front leg slightly, not putting his full weight on it.

I murmured softly to him, asking permission in horse language to examine him.  
Rocket agreed, and I picked up his hoof, examining it closely for cracks. I probed the frog  
gently, noting with relief that there was no swelling there.

"Where's it hurt?" I asked softly, pitching my voice so that only the horse could hear  
me.

"Not my hoof. It's higher up, a tendon, I think," Rocket nickered helpfully.

I felt expertly, my long fingers probing lightly. "You're right, Marissa," I sighed,  
gently setting the silver horse's leg down. "He's pulled a tendon. It's not all that bad, but  
there's some swelling and I don't think you should ride him in your next performance."

"Are you sure, Loki?" she asked, her face showing plainly her dismay. "Won't it heal  
if I poultice it?"

"Sure, but not in time for your routine tomorrow night."

"Damn!" she muttered, biting her lip.

"Don't you have a spare mount?"

"Yes, but Smoke's not smooth gaited enough for my new trick. And I've been  
working on it for the past three weeks, I'd hate to have to leave it out now." She stroked  
Rocket, who nuzzled her. "Poor boy. All those hours of practice ruined."

"I'm sorry," the gelding whinnied, though only I understood him.

Marissa scratched his ears and murmured softly to him. "Not your fault. Guess I'll  
just have to make do. Too bad we don't have any other horses capable of doing a flying  
change."

"Heror can do a flying change," I blurted out before I could think better of it. A flying  
change is a horseman's term for a horse who can switch leads from his right to left forefoot  
in mid air, at the moment when all four feet are off the ground. It requires a delicate sense  
of balance and grace to perform and not all horses can master it.

Heror, being both an immortal steed and part Arab, could do flying changes in his  
sleep.

Hope bloomed anew in Marissa's lovely eyes. "Would you mind if I borrowed him,  
Loki? Just for the one performance?"

I hesitated. Heror was not a horse that could be ridden by just anyone, he was  
temperamental and inclined to bouts of sulking with anyone but me. "I'd say yes, but he can  
be touchy."

"Why don't you let me try him out a bit?" she pleaded. "I've ridden horses who are  
touchy before and if I think he won't suit, well then I'll use Smoke. Give me an hour, okay?"

I nodded, unable to resist that wide-eyed stare. "Very well. But don't blame me if  
he tries to knock you off." I warned, then I went to get my stallion.

On the way back to the arena, I lectured the big horse quite thoroughly in manners and  
deportment and told him that if he behaved badly and made Marissa get hurt, I'd take a stick  
to him for real.

"All right already, I get the picture!" he snapped irritably. "I'll be careful with the  
woman you love, magician."

"Thanks," I sighed, then stopped dead. "What do you mean, the woman I love?"

Heror snorted. "Exactly what I said. Did you think I wouldn't notice? What do you  
take me for, a jackass?"

"You're being ridiculous. I'm not in love with Marissa."

"No? When's the last time you threatened me with a thrashing for real? I'll tell you  
when. It was when Bella was still a baby and just walking."

"So?"

"So . . . you only mean it when it's someone you care for. Someone who you can't  
bear to see hurt. Like your daughter. Or the woman you love," Heror pointed out smugly,  
flicking his long tail.

"I am NOT in love with Marissa!"

"Who are you trying to convince, magician—me or yourself?"

"Oh, shut up, Heror!" I growled. "And mind what I told you."

The stallion snickered, and I ground my teeth at his insolence. In love with Marissa  
indeed! The whole idea was—was preposterous. She was a mortal and not for the likes of  
me. I was old enough to know better. The union between a mortal and immortal brought only  
pain and sorrow. To the immortal, who must watch the mortal partner grow old and die, and  
the mortal who must look upon the immortal partner and envy the eternal youth and beauty  
given so unstintingly. Such a pairing was doomed from the beginning, fated to end in hearts  
broken and torn apart.

Never had I known a different ending to such a match, not in all my centuries.  
Mortals were for light dalliance for a night or two, but an immortal did not give his heart to  
one. My Greco-Roman cousins knew well the cost of such folly, their myths were full of  
such cautionary tales. As were my own people's.

And yet . . . even knowing what I did, I could not help but be entranced by Marissa  
Turner's graceful figure atop Heror, balancing easily upon one foot, then her hands, then  
soaring skyward in one breathless magnificent leap, spinning once, twice, thrice and landing  
lightly upon my stallion's back.

Light as thistledown, graceful as a swan upon the wing, I though then. Such perfect  
economy of motion, her whole body was in harmony with my horse, so much so that anyone  
seeing her would assume they'd been partners forever and not merely for a few minutes. Her  
performance took my breath away, and not just because of her mastery of acrobatics and  
daring aerial maneuvers on the back of a cantering horse.

She was not a conventional beauty, indeed I'd seen far prettier maids in Asgard,  
including the shrewish Glut. Even gentle Sigyn was fairer than this slender girl. But there  
was a light in her eyes that brought a glow to her tanned cheeks and her lean muscled body  
put me in mind of a cat, sleek with the pride of its power, though she lacked the generous  
curves of my immortal acquaintances. Her face was too pixyish for true beauty and her nose  
a shade too aquiline.

But it was those very imperfections that drew me to her.

Nor was it her physical charms alone that caught my eye. She was as fearless and  
free-spirited as I myself was, doing a thing which most men would not dare and maybe two  
women in a thousand would even contemplate. Circus performers of her caliber were as rare  
as pearls in a mountain stream. Her joy in her routine shown in every line of her body, it  
sparkled through her like fine wine, apparent to all who knew what to look for. She loved  
what she did, I soon realized. Bareback riding was to her what magic was to me.

Life itself.

Heror sensed this as well. At first he had performed satisfactorily enough, mostly out  
of pride in his abilities and the promise I had extracted. But as Marissa's routine had gone  
on, I saw his attitude for the young woman shift from tolerance to something even more  
profound—respect. Few people ever earned Heror's respect, immortal or mortal. That  
Marissa had done so spoke volumes, and it did not have to do with her skill alone. Rather it  
was her willingness to communicate with her mount, and feel what he did that earned my  
temperamental mount's approval. One horsewoman in a thousand possesses the necessary  
empathy to bond with her mount, and one in three thousand is willing to follow that impulse  
and actually form a bond. Marissa belonged to the latter group.

By the end of the hour she'd won over my great stallion completely.

She had also, all unknowingly, won a part of my heart as well.

She halted before me, sitting on Heror's back easily, her face flushed with joy.

"Oh, Loki! That was the most magnificent performance I've ever had. Are you sure  
he's never been trained for this kind of thing? Because he took to it like he'd been doing it  
for his whole life." She stroked Heror delightedly. "Well done, my handsome wonderful  
boy."

Heror preened at her sweet praise like a peacock, arching his neck and flaring his tail  
as if her were on parade, the vain thing!

"He's always been a quick study," I told her, smiling. That's what it's like to ride an  
immortal horse, little swan, I longed to say. What a pity I could never tell her the truth, I  
lamented. For surely she alone among mortals would appreciate Heror's true origins.

"It was almost like—like magic," she said with a soft chuckle.

I raised an eyebrow. "And do you believe in magic then, Miss Turner?"

"Of course. I was raised by a gypsy woman, Mr. Sigurdson," she tossed back calmly.  
"And all the Rom know that magic is part and parcel of the universe, like the air above us and  
the earth below. God gave us magic even as he did all else."

I bowed to her with a flourish. "Indeed, He did. And you may have the use of my  
stallion with pleasure tomorrow night, Miss Turner. I hope that performance renders the  
audience as speechless as this one did me."

She grinned at me, not a calculated grin such as a girl might give to a prospective  
suitor, but an unfeigned smile of delight such as one might give a good friend. "Thank you.  
I'm glad to see you know how to appreciate effort and hard work. Most people who come  
to see us perform think it all comes easy to us. But they're wrong. I spend hours a day  
practicing, especially now, when I'm doing a new trick for the first time."

"Your dedication to your art does you credit, Marissa. How long have you been a  
bareback rider?"

She paused to consider. "I started learning how to do stunts when I was about Hawk's  
age, I think. But I could ride before I could walk."

"And did you ever fall off and break a bone like our young daredevil?"

"No, though I've sprained wrists and ankles more than I can count. And once I  
dislocated my shoulder. That's part of the risk you take when you do what I do. But I'm  
careful, which is why I've not injured myself too badly. When I was Hawk's age, I'd have  
never tried a double backwards somersault off my mount without a spotter. Not until I'd  
mastered a single and landed safely from it over a hundred times. Hawk was lucky all he  
broke was his arm. He could have broken his neck or his spine."

"True."

"My profession isn't for the faint-hearted or the foolish. The one will get you killed  
just as well as the other," Marissa said wisely.

"And the fact that you might be seriously injured doesn't frighten you?"

"Oh it does. But I don't let it cripple me, otherwise I'd never be able to ride out and  
perform in the ring." She smiled dreamily. "I've been performing for fourteen years now and  
I love it just as much now as I ever did then. There's nothing like it. Nothing. And with a  
horse like your Heror under me . . .not even my Rocket can read me so well. I've never  
known a stallion to be so intuitive."

"He's a special horse," I agreed, stroking his nose. "Sometimes he seems almost  
human."

"A fitting mount for a magician then," she teased. "I once knew a man who taught  
his horse how to add and subtract and write with his hoof. I wonder if you could teach Heror  
that? Might be a new addition to your magic act, Loki."

Heror snorted sharply. "I'm a horse, not a performing dog!"

I patted him, soothing his ruffled dignity. "I don't think he'd take to that, Marissa.  
He's too proud to be put on display like that, though I've no doubt he could learn that trick.  
He's smarter than your average horse."

"Too blasted right I am!" my temperamental stallion interjected, tossing his head up  
and down.

"Easy, fellow," Marissa said. "No need to get insulted, chief. It was just an idea."  
She fed him a carrot, and he then forgave her. Food as a bribe always works wonders on  
Heror's bruised pride.

"You've got a way with horses," I commented approvingly.

She nodded. "Yes, it's why I became a bareback rider."

"I'm surprised your father allowed it, seeing as you're his only child."

"And a woman besides," she added, her mouth twitching into a smile at the words I'd  
deliberately left unsaid. "At first he objected to it most strenuously. Told me girls didn't risk  
their pretty necks doing flips off a horse. Said I should stick to dancing like my mother. But  
dancing never stirred me quite the way riding a horse did. When I rode a horse it felt like I  
could fly sometimes. But when I danced all I felt was the earth beneath my feet. Esmerelda  
understood though. She was the one who at last persuaded my father to teach me some tricks.  
After that, Dad gave in, once he saw I was serious and how much I loved it. Performing  
tricks off the back of a horse is one of my two great talents."

"What's the other one?" I inquired curiously.

She blushed and looked away, making me wonder if it was kissing. Then I shook my  
head, annoyed at myself. She did not strike me at all as a seductress. There was a certain air  
about a woman of that type that Marissa lacked. No, despite her twenty-four years, I'd wager  
my boots she was a maiden still. I waited patiently for her reply. It was then that I felt a  
familiar prickle run down my spine. It was the same feeling I got when I came into contact  
with another mage, only it was coming from the woman next to me.

I sucked in a breath, then gazed at her with my Mage Sight.

And Saw, to my everlasting shock, a shimmering thread of Power running through  
her. Marissa Turner had Talent in her. Not the full-blown Talent of a true magician, such  
as myself or Bella, but a strong bent for one particular skill. She was what the Vanir mages  
called a wilding, a person born with a specific gift of magery and no more.

"I can find lost objects," she admitted after a few minutes. "Now I know that doesn't  
sound like much, but I can find almost anything. No matter how long its been missing or  
whatever. It's almost like . . ."

"Magic?" I finished softly. "I'm a magician, I believe in that sort of thing."

"Yes, but your kind of magic is tricks and illusion, sir," she said, then flushed. "No  
offense meant, Loki. This is, well, its more like I can feel where something is and go to it.  
I've always been able to do it. My dad made me promise not tell too many folks about it.  
Said they might think I was a witch or something."

I snorted. "People are stupid. They fear what they don't understand. I once knew a  
man back in Norway who was a diviner—he could find water under the ground using a stick  
and a feeling similar to yours. He made himself a bunch of money doing it too and nobody  
ever called him a warlock. Your Gift of finding comes from the same place as your gift of  
riding, Marissa. It comes from God, not the devil." I said firmly.

"Oh? And how do you know that?" she asked impishly.

"Because the devil wouldn't care about finding a misplaced shoe or a missing lead  
shank," I answered, guessing correctly that she'd only used her Gift to find ordinary mundane  
things, not treasures and such. It was a good thing no one else knew about this unusual  
ability, for some unscrupulous person might well have tried to use her to find buried treasure  
for his own ends. "Does it work on people as well?"

"No. Only objects. I tried to use it to find a little boy who got lost once. But no  
matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get a fix on where he was. They found him eventually  
anyhow, asleep under a cottonwood, so I didn't feel as guilty as I might have otherwise.  
Esmerelda told me once that not all talents work the way you want them to."

"She is a wise woman," I said approvingly.

"I know. Some folks think she's a witch, cause she tells fortunes sometimes, but we  
know better. Most of what she tells folks is simply plain old common sense. There's nothing  
magical about half her advice. Though she did tell me that once in awhile she has flashes of  
what might be, but those are so rare she can count on both hands the times that's happened."  
Marissa said fondly. "She practically raised me after my Ma died. I couldn't have asked for  
a more decent or compassionate mother, Loki. Pa was miserable after she died, he barely  
noticed I was there. Esmerelda, she took me into her vardo and I lived with the Flynns until  
my father was well enough to remember he had a life and a child waiting for him again. They  
practically ran the show while Pa was grieving, if not for them, we'd of been broke, since  
none of the others had the initiative to continue. Pa says he can never repay the Flynns for  
what they did for us and Marco says that there is no talk of debts between brothers."

"Marco is a rare one too, for he's as honest as the day is long."

"And a damn sight better than the thieving Gypsy the rest of the world says he is,"  
Marissa put in softly. "Once, a woman came up to me not long after my Ma had died and  
asked me if I wouldn't like it better someplace else, where I didn't have to travel so much.  
She said it wasn't fitting for a little girl to be gallivanting all over the country in the company  
of ne'er do wells and my pa ought to send me off to some fancy boarding school back east  
where I could have a decent home and a proper education."

"Oh? And what did you tell her?"

"I said that my pa had taught me never to talk to strangers and good day," Marissa  
answered, her blue eyes twinkling impishly. "That wasn't what I wanted to say, of course,  
but Esmerelda had taught me to always be polite, even when people were rude and said nasty  
things to me about my friends. She said, rudeness only reveals the ignorance of the person  
acting that way, not the one whom it's directed at and as such it will reflect back upon the  
source. Until then I'd never thought much about how I was raised and where I lived, I never  
knew that there were people who looked down upon me because I lived out of the back of a  
wagon, travelling all over. That was all I'd ever known. When I told pa about what the  
woman had said, he asked me if I wanted to try doing what she'd said, going away to school  
and living in one place for longer than a month or two the way other folks did. I said no. I  
said I was happy just the way I was and I didn't need a fancy school to get an education and  
as long as I was with my family, I didn't care what town or city I was in. Home is where the  
heart is, Loki, and mine has always been with my family. Besides, I've a bit of the gypsy in  
me as well, and I love seeing new places and people. I don't know how I'd be staying in one  
place and seeing the same things day after day, know what I mean?"

I nodded, touched that she would share such thoughts with me. "Most settled folks  
find such a life as you and I lead a rootless one, without the comforts of a home or land to call  
your own. They have yet to appreciate the beauty of travel. Every day brings something new  
and the promise of a future full of surprises."

"You understand then," she smiled. "Shall we put Heror on a lead and let him graze  
while we have breakfast? I can smell Esmerelda's hotcakes and sausages from here."

"Yes. My stomach's growling like a grizzly." I took Heror's lead and we walked back  
towards where I'd placed my wagon. "Bella's probably over there already."

"Do you ever miss your home, Loki?"

I shook my head. "Not really. Too many memories there. I needed to get away for  
awhile. So did Bella. A certain young man had broken her heart and she didn't want to be  
reminded of him, so she was quite eager to catch a ship to America."

"I can understand that. My first infatuation was with a boy in Boston, but his family  
would never have considered me suitable, they were old-blooded Brahmins and I was little  
better than street trash as far as they were concerned. And he didn't have the guts to defy his  
father for me, so I was better off without him. But I cried for days. I was all of sixteen and  
convinced he was Prince Charming. But Maura, who was like a big sister to me, told me that  
a real prince, one who truly loved me, would have followed me to the ends of the earth, and  
to hell with propriety. When you love someone, she said, he fills up your whole being. He  
is like the earth, the sky, like your very heartbeat. Living without him is like being half-alive.  
Well, when I started to forget what he looked like some two weeks later, I realized she was  
right and he wasn't my one true love." She flushed suddenly. "I can't believe I told you that.  
You must think me a silly romantic fool."

"Not at all," I said swiftly. "I gave my daughter much the same advice, though she's  
still pining after him. Maybe it's different if it comes from a woman."

"If you think it would help, I could try and talk with her," she offered. "She might  
feel less awkward with me."

"I'd appreciate it. She used to come and tell me just about everything, but now . . ."  
I sighed. "There are times I wish her mother was around." Which was true, because though  
I tried, there are some things a woman understands better than a man, no matter how old or  
open minded he is.

"You must have loved her very much," Marissa murmured.

I found I couldn't reply, though normally I have a facile tongue when it comes to  
lying. Yet this time my throat closed up and words would not come. I could not play the  
hypocrite and say yes when I'd never known a love such as she had described, not ever in all  
of my centuries. Not even Sigyn had been to me what Marissa had so innocently said was  
true love. So to avoid the lie which stuck in my throat, I turned away and focused upon the  
horizon, allowing her to draw her own conclusions from my silence.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Loki!" she cried after a moment. "Please forgive me, that was rude  
and insensitive."

I turned back and saw she was blushing, utterly embarrassed by her boldness in  
pursuing such a topic of conversation. I found that the blush only made her look more  
charming. "No, that's all right," I hastened to reassure her. "My wife's been dead a long  
time and I've become resigned to that fact long ago." At least as resigned as you could be to  
someone who didn't even exist, I thought impertinently, and fought to keep from grinning.

"Truly?" she eyed me up and down. "Then why . . ." she broke off, coloring a  
becoming rose. "Never mind. It's none of my business."

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing I should be saying."

I couldn't resist teasing her. "Were you, perhaps, going to ask me why I haven't  
married again? I assure you, you're not the first woman to ask me that, Miss Turner."

She looked away. "And what did you tell them?"

"The same thing I'm going to tell you. I will marry again if I ever find a woman who  
can love me and my daughter with all of her heart. I will settle for nothing less," I stated  
firmly. To my utter shock, I realized I meant those words. Of course, I knew that would  
never happen, for I'd never met a woman I was willing to trust with my heart and my soul,  
two things which I felt necessary to a good relationship. And now there was Bella, and any  
woman I courted had to accept her as well or it would be over. I wanted no parallel of the  
wicked stepmother and Cinderella in my household.

"My father felt the same as you did, sir. Which was why he never remarried. Now  
though, I'm wondering if he might not consider another wife, seeing as I'm far past the age  
where a stepmother would have much influence on me," she admitted with a mischievous  
grin.

"Ah, a dyed in the wool rebel, are you?"

"And then some," she laughed and I found myself laughing with her.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so at ease with a woman. Marissa seemed  
to touch in me a chord of sweetness and innocence I'd thought lost long ago. Indeed, I was  
almost regretful that I could not tell her the truth, even though I knew she would never  
believe me. Even if, by some miracle she did believe me, what good would it do? For she  
was mortal and nothing good would ever come of my falling in love with her. Or so I told  
my foolish heart, hoping to crush the slender thread of attraction I felt once and for all. But  
my heart was more stubborn than I anticipated, and refused to be silenced.  
I followed Marissa up the stairs to the Flynn's vardo, steadfastly ignoring the way her  
slender legs moved beneath her short skirt, making my mouth go dry with longing.


	20. Midnight Rescue

**Midnight Rescue**

I guessed that Marissa must have found time that afternoon to have a talk with Bella,  
for that night before bed, my daughter told me that she and the bareback rider had a most  
interesting discussion regarding men.

"She seemed to think I was suffering from a broken heart, Father," Bella said  
pointedly. "I wonder who gave her _that_ idea?"

"I did. It wasn't intended, it just, uh, slipped out," I said lamely. "I figured it might  
do you good to get a woman's perspective. That it would help you, uh, decide what you're  
going to do about Leif when we finally find him. Did you find Marissa's advice to be  
helpful?"

"Actually, I did. And when we finally do find the scoundrel, I'm going to ask him a  
number of very pointed questions," my daughter said with a determined glint in her eye.  
Then she cocked her head and said, "She told me you're letting her ride Heror in her  
performance tomorrow night."

"Her horse went lame and Heror's the only horse we've got that can do the maneuvers  
she requires," I answered softly.

"And is that the ONLY reason, Father?" Bella asked sweetly.

"What's that supposed to mean, you impudent child?"

"You never let anyone ride your horse, Father. Remember, you told me once that  
Heror is a horse who only tolerates a single rider—you. But he allowed Marissa to ride him.  
He told me you insisted. He also told me she was quite a lady and you were to be  
commended in your choice of women."

"He said what?" I gaped. "Why that—that impudent, stupid—he's got some nerve!"  
I sputtered angrily.

"Why Father, I've never seen you get so . . .agitated over a woman before," Bella  
teased, smirking. "Could it be that Heror's right? That you do have . . .feelings for Miss  
Turner?"

I glared at her. "That, young lady, is none of your damn business."

"Mimir's Well, but I think you're actually in love with her!" Bella cried. "How  
wonderful."

"Oh, shut up, Bella. There's nothing wonderful about it. It's a love doomed to  
failure." I snapped bitterly.

"But why? Marissa seems like a good match for you. She's smart and funny and  
compassionate and she loves animals and—"

"Stop!" I held up a hand before she could go on listing all of Marissa's considerable  
virtues. "I know all of that, you interfering minx. I also know that she's mortal and a love  
between a human and an immortal is always doomed to failure. It just doesn't work."

"Who says?"

"Everyone. Remember all your legends, Bella. Zeus and Semele, Brunhilda and  
Sigurd. No one I've ever known who's ever loved a mortal has ever managed to have a happy  
lasting relationship. Someone always ends up hurt in the end."

"Then why don't you make her immortal?"

I groaned. "You say that like it was as easy as my changing an apple into a pear. It  
isn't, my girl. In order for me to do that, I need permission from Odin, and the last time he  
gave permission for a mortal to become one of us was over five centuries ago. Not only that,  
but the mortal has to be told everything about us and agree to keep all she knows secret. And  
finally, in order to make someone immortal requires a very great sacrifice on the part of the  
immortal. It means I'd have to give up part of my power, part of my very soul, to make her  
one of us. Which is something I'd only agree to if I truly loved her."

"Well, don't you?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I like her, but I don't know if I trust her with all I am. And  
I don't have time to find out. The end of the month is drawing near. We've only got a few  
more days, then I make my move and take Gungnir and we go back home."

"What about Leif?" she demanded. "I'm not leaving until I speak with him,  
wherever he is."

"Bella . . ."

"No, Father. I mean to settle this once and for all. I won't throw away my heart and  
then spend the rest of eternity regretting it like you did."

"I never threw my heart away," I cried.

"Not yet, but if you leave without Marissa you will be," Bella said quietly. "And  
you'll regret it forever. Trust me on that. I've Seen it."

"You had a vision of me and Marissa?"

She nodded solemnly. "But even if I didn't, I know she's meant for you."

"Really? And what makes you an expert?"

"I'm a woman," was all she said. Then she kissed me on the cheek and said she was  
going to bed.

I stayed up and drank tea and brooded, scowling into my teacup. But I've never been  
much of a diviner, and all I saw was a bunch of wet tea leaves. First Heror, then Bella. Had  
everyone I knew been bitten with the romance bug? I wondered sourly, then I thanked the  
Norns that Olga and Ava weren't here, because they'd probably have agreed with them,  
seeing as both of them were female and incurable romantics. No doubt Flicker would put her  
two cents in tomorrow morning when I fed her as well.

I snorted in disgust. All of them were crazy. Marissa didn't love me. Or did she?  
More to the point, did I love her? I shivered, for I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer  
to that question. Yet deep inside, my traitorous heart whispered that I did, and that terrified  
me.

*******

Marissa's performance the following night was a thing all who saw it would  
remember for all of their lives, never to be forgotten. Her final trick off my cantering black  
stallion, a triple backwards somersault done from a poised stance on his back brought the  
audience to their feet with gasps and the roars of approval when she landed perfectly  
balanced on the ground behind Heror's flowing tail. They'd never seen such splendid daring,  
such pure grace, and aerial perfection.

To tell the truth, neither had I.

Indeed, I applauded and shouted as loudly as any when she took her final bow in the  
center ring. The center ring, by the way, is only given to the top performers in the  
circus—those with the best acts and sure to draw a large and enthusiastic crowd. Performers  
like Marissa and the Flynns. And Bella and myself, whose magic act continued to hold  
people spellbound, as well as it ought to. Mere human stage magicians have nothing on yours  
truly, even when I'm only using sleight-of-hand techniques. Nothing beats several centuries  
of practice.

Matthew said later that Marissa's performance on Heror was nothing short of divinely  
inspired. He was right, though not in the way he thought. I had no time to congratulate her,  
however, since my magic act was up next.

Dressed in my familiar black ensemble, I waited in the wings for Matthew to  
announce me, while Bella set up our props in the ring. I gave my usual eye-popping, heart-  
stopping performance, though I was not quite up to form on some of my more elementary  
tricks, since my mind insisted on replaying how Marissa looked balancing on one foot, her  
glorious dark hair flying behind her like a living curtain of ebony.

Not that the audience noticed, though my daughter did give me several pointed  
glances whenever our eyes met, making me flush like a schoolboy who's forgotten his lines  
in front of the class. Angrily, I pushed all thoughts of Marissa out of my head and  
concentrated on my act.

But once it was over, I sought Marissa's wagon to give her a proper congratulations  
on a phenomenal performance. I didn't even bother to strip off my cape or change out of my  
costume. The only thing I did do was remove my white gloves and tuck them into a pocket.

The night was cool and the moon was a three-quarter orb above my head, providing  
plenty of light to find my way inbetween all the circus wagons. Not that I really need the  
moonlight, for as an immortal I have very good night vision, as good as any cat or predator  
that hunts in the dark. My act had lasted maybe an hour to an hour and a half at the most,  
plenty of time for Marissa to rub Heror down and picket him by my wagon and return to her  
own for a cooling drink and a change of costume as well.

Normally I would have stayed to watch the Flynns' performance, as Bella had, but I  
wanted to speak to Marissa alone and thus I left as soon as I could get away. As I threaded  
through the darkened wagons, I listened to the myriad sounds of the night—the croaking of  
toads, the whine of mosquitoes, the soft whuffle of horses grazing nearby. Further back, I  
could hear the crowd yelling and clapping as one of the acrobats performed some insane  
tumbling routine upon the tightrope. Or at least, it looked insane, I amended. I knew that  
Marco carefully choreographed all their routines to ensure the maximum safety of all his  
family during a show. Not only that, but all of them wore nearly invisible wires upon their  
persons when they danced on the tightrope, just in case one of them did slip, the wire would  
prevent them from hitting the ground.

As I neared the western end of the circle of wagons, I heard a woman's voice raised  
in anger, followed by a man's harsh bark of laughter. Frowning, I went forward, for I was  
quite certain the voice was Marissa's. I didn't recognize the man's, but it made all the hairs  
on the back of my neck prickle in warning.

I could see the bright circle of a lantern hung in the window of Marissa's wagon,  
which had the door half open as well. That was definitely not a good sign. I quickened my  
pace, alarm racing through me.

There came the sharp crack of a hand striking flesh, followed by a man's soft snarl.

"What the bloody blazes was that for, Rissa?"

"Get out, Mr. Tims. Before I have you arrested," Marissa's voice floated to me, sharp  
with anger and outrage. But beneath the anger I caught the unmistakable tang of fear.

"Arrested? Me? For what? Stealing a few kisses?" he chuckled. "Girl, you've got  
another thing coming if you think the law in this town will do anything to me."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"It's amazing how a little thing like a few dollars in the right hands will get you the  
freedom to do what you want, even out here," Tims was boasting.

"I should of known scum like you wasn't above bribery," Marissa snorted. "But if the  
sheriff won't do his job, my father will once he learns of your despicable behavior tonight.  
I suggest you pack your bags, sir, because your employment with this company is over."

"Like hell it is!" Tims roared. "You breathe one word about this and I'll—"

He never finished his sentence for in the next instant I had him by the back of the  
neck, hauling him out of the wagon to land in the dust before me.

Dazed and befuddled, reeking of cheap whiskey, he gazed at me in shock.

"You'll what?" I asked in a deadly soft tone, my eyes blazing with all the thwarted  
fires of hell. "Strangle her? Rape her? Beat her brains in? Not at all the act of a gentleman,  
Mr. Tims. But then, I've never thought you were one."

He scrambled to his feet then, giving me a furious glare. "What's the big idea,  
magician? Me and Rissa were havin' a private conversation, you had no call to do what you  
did."

"Didn't I? Fortunately for you, I got here before you tried anything with her. I  
distinctly recall the lady telling you to leave and you refused. Again, not the act of a  
gentleman. But then you're not one, despite your fancy clothes and fine airs. You're nothing  
but a two-bit con artist on the make, Tims. How long have you been skimming profits? One  
year, two? Oh, don't bother to deny it, sir, I know a liar when I see one."

Tims was sweating now, probably wondering how in God's name I'd found him out.  
But he was too stupid or too proud to admit defeat. "You don't know anything, you  
Scandinavian freak. You won't be able to prove anything either. You or the frigid bitch in  
the wagon."

Hearing him call Marissa that made my blood boil. Furious, I clenched a fist. But  
before I could let it fly, Tims reached into a pocket and pulled out a revolver.

"Don't move, Sigurdson. Get your hands in the air where I can see 'em. That's good.  
Not so bold now, are we, magician? Don't got anything to say now, do you? No fancy tricks  
to pull out of your magic hat this time. Too bad!"

Behind him, I heard Marissa gasp. I kept my hands in the air as he'd ordered, letting  
him think he'd won. Were I a normal man, he would have. But I was no helpless mortal and  
I needed nothing save my will to work my magic.

I made the handle of the gun too hot for Tims to hold.

He dropped it with a howl, clutching his seared hand.

Then I moved, slamming him in the jaw with my best haymaker.

He went down like a shot and did not move.

"Dear God. Is he dead?"

I glanced up at Marissa, who was silhouetted in the open door of the wagon, her  
brown eyes wide with alarm and the dregs of anger and panic.

"No. Just knocked out." I kicked the still smoking gun away from the prostrate Tims.

"How did that happen?" she asked, coming down the folding stairs to peer at the  
firearm.

I wrapped my hand in a fold of my cape and picked up the gun before she could  
examine it too closely. "No idea. Must have been defective. Lucky for me." I slipped the  
gun in a pocket of my cape. "You all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Her lower lip trembled, but she answered calmly enough, "No, thank God. Though  
not for lack of trying." She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. "If you hadn't  
come along when you did, Loki . . ."

"Hush," I whispered, reaching out a finger to catch a tear that had fallen onto her  
cheek. "I did and you're safe now. I promise you that, Marissa Turner."

She gazed up at me, vulnerable as a lost lamb. "I never liked him, but I never thought  
he'd stoop to—to murder and—and rape and bribery."

"Desperate men do desperate deeds," I said softly, wanting to reach out and take her  
in my arms, but afraid to do so after what had almost occurred.

"He probably had gambling debts or something. His kind always do," she said with  
a faint bitter note in her voice. "He always did like to spend a night or two in town at the  
tables. I overheard Pa giving him hell about it once." Another tremor shook her. "And to  
think he wanted me . . .he expected I would . . .the vile, stinking, low-down, miserable  
bastard!" her voice broke on that last word and she stamped over to give the comatose man  
a kick, looking down at the ground so I wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

Her attempt to retain a portion of her dignity touched me more profoundly than a  
spate of tears would have. I longed suddenly to wake up the miserable bastard just so I could  
have the pleasure of pummeling his sorry ass into oblivion all over again. The mere thought  
of him putting his greasy paws on her made me long to have Mjolnir or Baldur's sword in my  
hand, so I could smash his skull in or cut him to pieces. In that instant I reverted to the  
savage ferocity of my Aesir kin, and had I not been restrained by circumstances and the  
woman by my side, I might well have gone for the knife I carried in my boot and allowed the  
dark fury welling up in me free reign.

An instant later I quenched the darkness with my implacable iron will and turned to  
Marissa, who was shivering and sniffling, reaction overwhelming the anger she'd displayed  
earlier. "We should tie him up," I said quietly, half-reaching out to her.

"Yes," she said softly, then she moved to stand within the curve of my arm.

I reacted instinctively and my arm wrapped about her slender waist, drawing her  
against me. The top of her head barely came up to my chin. She said nothing, merely nestled  
against me like a child seeking solace from the dark.

For several long moments we stood there, our breath and our heartbeats mingling. I  
felt the tension coiled inside her body flow away and she relaxed against me. Then she  
shifted, tilting her head up to look into my eyes.

"I owe you my life, Loki."

"No. I did what any decent man would do upon seeing a lady in distress," I answered.  
"You owe me nothing save what you choose to give me, Marissa."

"Thank you for that," she said, then she kissed me.

It was tentative at first, and I recognized immediately that she'd never kissed a man  
before. That I was her first both humbled and delighted me. I let her lead, then when I was  
sure it was what she wanted, I kissed her back, one sweet kiss of desire that promised many  
more to come.

I drew back then, all too aware that my control was not what it should be. And I had  
no intention of taking advantage of her any further. "Well, I came here to congratulate you,  
not play a knight in shining armor," I joked, releasing her from my embrace. "Lucky for you,  
I'm adaptable, Miss Turner."

She smiled at that. "Lucky doesn't begin to describe it, Mr. Sigurdson."

"Why don't you go on inside and make yourself a cup of tea?" I suggested. "I'll finish  
dealing with Billy the Kid here. Do you have an extra coil of rope around here?"

She rummaged about beneath the wagon bed for a few moments, emerging  
triumphantly with a dusty coil in her hand. "This should do." She tossed to me.

I caught it deftly, then proceeded to truss up Tims like a Sunday turkey dinner.  
"There! He won't be able to wriggle out of that anytime soon," I said, dusting off my hands.

"Good. I'll inform my father of the varmint's actions after I've had that cup of tea  
you mentioned. Care to join me?"

"It'd be my pleasure," I said, and gave her a smooth bow, my eyes twinkling.

I followed her up the stairs into her wagon, seating myself at the small table while she  
put the kettle on. I fished the gun from my cape, it had now cooled, and set it on the table.  
"Make sure you give this to your father when you tell him about Tims."

"I will." She eyed the gun with distaste. "Figures a snake like him would be packing.  
When I saw him pull that revolver, Loki, I thought for sure we were both dead." She closed  
her eyes and I winced at the pain on her face.

"Good thing the gun backfired then," I reminded her. "I'm not too good at mending  
bullet holes."

"How can you joke about this? He almost . . ."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes, Marissa. And it's better to laugh about it than to  
cry, isn't it?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I guess. But I've never been so scared in my life. Not even  
when a rattlesnake almost bit Pa."

"Want to know a secret? Me either."

"You sure didn't act like it."

"I know better than to show fear in front of a predator. Though I have to admit, I  
probably could have wrestled the gun from him if I'd had to. He was drunker than he looked.  
Even if he'd shot at me, he probably would have missed."

"Still, I'm glad he never got the chance. A bullet hole would have ruined your  
costume considerably," she teased back.

"Definitely." I chuckled. I had to admire her spirit. Most women would have been  
crying hysterically after what she'd been through tonight, not trading quips with her rescuer.

The kettle began to whistle and Marissa rose to remove it from the stove and pour it  
into two mugs. Soon the heady aroma of mint tea pervaded the small wagon. I added a few  
lumps of sugar to mine and stirred it, then sipped it. "Ah! Fit for the gods."

Marissa raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. I always find that mint tea soothes and  
refreshes me after a performance."

"Speaking of that, I originally came here to congratulate you on your amazing  
routine."

She blushed in pleasure. "Thanks again, Loki. But most of that was Heror. With a  
horse like that under me, I could perform just about anything and have it turn out brilliantly.  
He's the most amazing animal I've ever ridden."

"Don't say that too loud, please," I cautioned her with a smile. "If Heror hears that  
he'll be insufferable for days. He already thinks he's royalty."

That made her laugh, as I'd intended. "I could almost believe it. What are his  
bloodlines?"

"He's part Arab and something else, probably Thoroughbred or Andalusian," I  
hedged, wishing for the seventh time that I could just tell her the truth. The whole truth. "I  
got him as a young stallion from an Arabian horse dealer. They were going to geld him  
because he was too wild for them to handle and his blood wasn't pure enough for their  
breeding program," I lied blithely. Thank the Norns Heror wasn't here to listen to this, he'd  
have kicked me into next week for maligning his heritage that way.

"They thought they'd sold you a scrub, right?" Marissa guessed, her brown eyes  
twinkling. "Guess that time the joke was on them."

"You can bet your boots on that," I said, taking another sip of my tea. "Heror's worth  
more than money can buy. To me, at least."

"I'd have to agree with you there. But would you ever consider selling a foal of his?"  
"That would depend. Flicker, my daughter's mare, is his filly. She's got her sire's  
conformation and speed. Not to mention his temper. I couldn't promise a foal of Heror's  
lineage to just anyone. They'd have to know how to handle prickly horses."

"Which I do. How about it, Loki? Would you agree to give me a foal of Heror's,  
provided you can find a mare worthy of him?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. You I know I can trust." I made a mental note to send her the  
second foal of Heror's bloodline. "Although you know I can't promise the foal will be  
anything like his sire."

"I know. Still, any foal with Heror's blood is bound to have a few surprises." She  
shifted in her seat. "The final act must be in progress. I'd better go and find my father and  
tell him what happened. The sooner he kicks Tims' sorry behind out of here the better." She  
exhaled softly. "The idiot doesn't know how lucky it was you came along instead of Pa. Pa  
would have done more than just knock him out. He'd of shot him dead."

"Believe me, I thought about it. If I'd had that gun to hand . . ."

"I almost wish you had shot him. Then again, you don't deserve to go to jail for  
murdering a swine like Tims. If Pa can prove he was swindling us, Tims'll be the one in  
prison. Either way, it's better than he deserves."

I couldn't have agreed more. I finished my tea, then accompanied her back to the  
big top to find Matthew Turner.


	21. Thunder Crashes

**Thunder Crashes**

**A/N: the * before sentences indicates telepathic speech  
**

﻿The circus manager was livid when Marissa told him what had almost happened. Not  
that I blamed him any. If some bastard had nearly raped Bella I'd have roasted his balls over  
a slow fire and made him watch. Matthew was a little less graphic—he said he wanted to  
strip Tims naked and stake him to a hill of red army ants, the way the Comanche did to their  
enemies, but in lieu of that he'd turn the coward over to the local law for attempted assault  
of a woman and embezzlement of funds. And he'd make certain that Sheriff Woodrow knew  
that certain officers in his employ were not above taking bribes, unless that was another of  
Tims' lies.

Either way, that was the last anyone ever heard from Mr. Aristotle Tims.

Yet, in a way, I had him to thank for revealing to me the true depth of my feelings for  
Marissa. There's nothing like having the woman you think you love in peril to bring home  
the fact that you really do love her that much. Not only that, but I also knew that she returned  
my affections more than just a little, if that kiss was any example.

Even so, I still regarded my affection for Matthew's daughter as cursed. Not only was  
I an immortal, doomed to eternal life, but I was living a lie as well. Even in my current guise,  
I was many years her senior, and what manner of woman wanted to tie herself to a man so  
much older then she? Only one who was very desperate. Or very much in love, as Esmerelda  
pointed out to me one evening after supper, while Marissa was busy helping Rowena with the  
dishes.

My mouth had dropped open at her casually spoken words. Christ on the cross, did  
everyone in Midgard know of my feelings for the girl? I felt myself blush red as a fire. I was  
no green boy, to wear his heart on his sleeve for all to see. I had been careful to hide my  
interest in Marissa as anything save a friend, or so I'd thought.

"Esmerelda!" I sputtered, just as tongue-tied as any teenage boy, may all the Norns  
have mercy! "Whyever would you suggest such a thing? Marissa is the daughter of my  
employer, not to mention ten years my junior."

But the Gypsy woman was far too experienced to be put off by any lame excuses.  
"That may be so, Loki, but the heart knows neither age nor propriety. Among the Rom, we  
say love is no respecter of caste or appearance, it simply is. Now, there's no sense in denying  
it, so best you simply accept it, for it won't go away, magician. This is one thing you can't  
make disappear with a wave of your wand or a swirl of your cape."

"Don't you think I know that?" I growled miserably. "I've been fighting this damn  
attraction for weeks now and all it's gotten me is an aching head and a temper to rival that  
of a baited grizzly."

She laid a cool hand on my arm, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and a  
woman's wicked knowledge of sensuality. "Then perhaps you should stop doing so, Mr.  
Sigurdson. Love hurts worse when thwarted, you know."

Actually I didn't, having never been in the state before. "What are you saying,  
Esmerelda? That I should just announce my intentions to court her before everyone and hope  
she returns my affections? Or that Matthew doesn't take offense and come after me with a  
shotgun?"

"You don't know Matthew very well if you think he'd ever threaten the only man his  
daughter has ever shown interest in," my friend said softly, chuckling. "He loves Marissa too  
well to ever make her unhappy. And he would have no room to disapprove of you being a  
performer, since that would be like the pot calling the kettle black. In fact, I think he would  
be glad if the two of you did marry, then he could turn the business over to you both when he  
retired and keep the circus in the family. He likes and respects you, Loki, he knows you'd  
never take advantage of his daughter."

I laughed quietly. "I wouldn't, in every way save one." Then I shook my head angrily.  
"But all this speculation is useless. I won't ask Marissa to marry me and there's an end to  
it. She can do ten times better than me."

"She doesn't think so."

"How do you know that? She tell you?"

Again Esmerelda nodded. "Not with words, no, but I know her heart all the same.  
And it beats for you and only you."

"Sure it does. Typical Gypsy nonsense."

She frowned at me, crossing her arms over her chest, giving me a look from under her  
dark eyelashes like that of a mother reproving a totally exasperating child. "Do not mock  
what you can't understand. I practically raised the girl after her mother died and I know her  
as well as I do my own daughter. I have never seen Rissa look at a man the way she does you,  
for never has a man been willing to respect her for all that she is. Most men see only the  
glittering performer, the woman who represents all their own wives do not, and they hunger  
to possess her like a shiny gold coin. But once they had her, they would expect her to  
conform to the rules of society, and be nothing more than a bedmate and a broodmare,  
subservient only to him. Marissa knows this, it is why she has never allowed a man close to  
her. Until now. For in you she sees one who will not cage her spirit, who is not afraid of a  
woman who can think, who enjoys her independence and will love her as an equal. If she  
married you, Loki, she need never fear becoming a man's possession. And she loves you the  
same way you love her."

"You don't understand. I CAN'T MARRY HER!" I cried, my voice rising despite my  
best efforts to control it.

"Why not? You are free to seek a new wife, are you not?" Esmerelda inquired. Then  
her eyes narrowed. "Or have you played us false and still have a wife back in Norway?"

"No. I have no woman anywhere who binds me. Nor did I ever. I have never known  
a love like this before," I admitted softly, gazing down at my hands.

"Ah. I see now. That is why you are running away from your own shadow. Because  
you are afraid to love her."

"Yes."

"You need not be. A love such as hers will free you, Loki. There is nothing so sweet  
as the love of a woman like my Marissa. She has the kindest of hearts, the most generous and  
accepting of natures."

"I know that. But even that won't be enough. Please, Esmerelda, no more. There is  
too much about me that you don't know, can never know. Trust me when I say that no matter  
how much Marissa thinks she loves me, such a love could never stand the truth that I carry.  
So best never put it to the test, my lady."

"Ah, my friend. Whatever secret shame you carry cannot be as great as all that." She  
tilted her head to one side, in the manner of a curious child. "Have you done murder then?  
Or committed adultery perhaps? You'd not be the first man to have done so and then repented  
of it."

"Would that my secret was as commonplace as that," I snorted. "But no, I'm not  
running from a wronged wife or vengeful kinsmen. But my heart is not free to marry Marissa  
nor any other woman. I made a vow, long ago, to never marry a woman I couldn't reveal all  
of myself to."

"Oh. And are you so sure that Marissa isn't the woman you seek?"

I sighed. "Yes. The understanding I seek is not to be found here." Nor anywhere on  
Midgard, more's the pity. Loki, Loki, you everlastingly foolish dolt! You know better than  
to reveal your heart to a mortal. Love has never fared well in a battle with immortality.

"So you say. But I say differently. I say you should tell Marissa this great secret of  
yours, Loki Sigurdson, and let her be the judge as to what she will or will not accept. That  
would be the fair thing to do. Not to mention honorable."

This time I did laugh, softly and mockingly. But not at Esmerelda. My scorn was for  
myself. "Life's never fair, Esmerelda Flynn. I learned that a long time ago. And honor's a  
thing for knights in shining armor, not stage magicians. And love is for those young and  
foolish enough to believe in it. I am none of those things."

"Are you not? You value yourself too little, magician. I think you are afraid to love  
because you think yourself unworthy. But, Loki, so are we all. Not one of us is without  
flaws, a perfect being. Not one of us is without sin or shame. But when you love another,  
all of that vanishes, at least for a while. For those that love one another truly accept their  
partner's flaws and in so doing free the beloved from hurt. Love is the ultimate expression  
of forgiveness. Thus does God teach us, in His Holy Writ. Thus I believe. And so does  
Marissa."

"Love and forgiveness are possible for all?" I could not keep the bitterness from my  
tone.

"Of course. Our Savior died so that the sins of us all were to be forgiven. Do you not  
believe in that, Loki?"

"Oh, I believe in it," I answered, shivering. How could I not? No one knew better  
than I of the sacrifice made by Jesus of Nazareth. "He sacrificed all for peace. Peace among  
mankind." He never said a damn thing about peace among immortals. "It's too bad that  
dream of peace will never be heeded by most people. Nearly two thousand years have passed  
and still people are killing each other."

"Mankind is stubborn. Much like yourself."

I shrugged. "Guess so. That being so, you might as well save your breath, Esmerelda.  
And tell Marissa not to waste hers either. Some secrets aren't meant to be shared. Good  
night." I turned away, seeking to put some distance between us. Some of her words had  
struck much too deep for comfort and I needed time to repair the breach in my defenses.

"You can't run forever, Loki." I heard Esmerelda whisper softly behind me. "Love  
will find you always."

I bit my lip hard, but didn't reply, much as I longed to shout back that love would  
never find me a world away, in Asgard. I cursed furiously. Damn my soft heart! And damn  
Leif for stealing Gungnir and Thor too for sending me on this stupid quest. While I was at  
it, I also damned Bella for her insistence on coming with me to confront her faithless  
boyfriend and Marissa as well for falling in love with an immortal who could never return  
her love.

Except I knew that I lied. For I DID love her. Loved her too damn much. I could  
admit it to myself, if never to another.

Heaven help me, but I was such a fool! After eight centuries you'd think I would have  
learned how to guard my heart better. But I never thought a pair of soft brown eyes and a  
gentle smile would be able to scale all the defenses I'd built, nor that a laugh would capture  
my heart so utterly.

And they said men were the more dangerous of the human race.

Wishful thinking. For there was nothing so dangerous as a woman's smile, nor so  
powerful as a woman's longing. Nothing. With such weapons had Delilah conquered  
Samson. With such weapons Brunhilda had seduced Sigurd, and Guinevere commanded  
Arthur and Lancelot. Warriors all, undefeated in battle, yet when faced with a woman's secret  
weapon, they'd fallen. A man's strength availed him little against a woman's kisses and no  
sword or shield in the world was proof against a woman's love. Men have always known  
this. It is why they spent the next thousand years lying to themselves, boasting that women  
were the weaker and in need of a man's protection. Because every man knows the best  
defense against something is a good offense. Except there is no protection against a woman's  
love. Nor had there ever been.

Immortal and mortal, every man born knows this for truth.

Which was why I was doomed.

* * * * * *

The sensible thing to do would have been to avoid all temptation and have nothing  
more to do with Marissa Turner from then on. But the Norns forbid I should embrace  
anything so practical as common sense when it comes to women. I just didn't have it in me  
to be deliberately rude to a woman whose only crime—if you could call it that—had been to  
make me fall in love with her. Something which I was almost sure she didn't know. I  
thought we might go back to being friends, but that kiss outside her home had sealed both our  
fates. And, if I'm going to be perfectly honest—a rarity for me, I know—I didn't want to give  
up that promise of love. I knew I was courting disaster even entertaining such thoughts, yet  
I could not seem to help myself.

I knew what the other immortals of my acquaintance would say to me had I gone to  
them for advice. They'd tell me to bed her and be done with it. That would quench my  
desire for her quick enough. But I wanted more from her than a casual relationship. I was  
no longer the callow immortal that had spurned Sigyn's advances of marriage. Raising Bella  
had caused me to release the chokehold I'd kept over my heart, had made me realize that love  
did not always mean vulnerability.

Yet loving a daughter was not the same as loving a wife. My love for Bella was fierce  
and protective and on my own terms. But if I allowed myself to love Marissa I would have  
to give up a part of myself, for to do less would not be right. I would have to tell her the truth  
of who and what I was. I didn't think I could do that, so best to keep silent. In a few days,  
it'd be a moot point anyhow.

I'd be gone along with Gungnir and Bella and soon enough they'd all forget us.

Thus when Marissa asked me to go on a picnic with her, I agreed, figuring if I  
couldn't have the rest of my life with her, I'd at least have some wonderful memories to  
comfort me in my lonely Asgardian exile. Esmerelda and Rowena packed us a huge lunch  
and waved us off with a smile. I strapped the bulging picnic hamper to the back of my saddle  
and mounted Heror, ignoring his complaints that he wasn't any damned draft horse. "Quit  
moaning, you big baby," I ordered in Norse. "It barely weighs ten pounds. It's not like I'm  
asking you to tote a wagon full of rocks."

"Good thing, else you'd be in the dirt by now, magician," my stallion snorted, laying  
back his ears and stomping his left hoof.

I swung into the saddle, smacking him on the shoulder. "You're acting like a spoiled  
brat, Heror. Now knock it the hell off."

"I'd like to knock you off," he grumbled, and I could feel him bunching his  
hindquarters beneath me.

"Buck me off and I swear that I'll leave you stranded here," I hissed in one upturned  
ear.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me."

Wisely, Heror settled down. I tolerated a lot from my beloved mouthy horse, but  
being bucked off on purpose wasn't one of them. Especially not in front of Marissa, who was  
fastening a large jug of water on the back of Rocket's saddle. She mounted in one graceful  
leap and looked over at me inquiringly. "All set then?"

I nodded, settling myself more firmly into my saddle. "Lead on, Lady MacDuff."

"Will do, my lord," she grinned at the reference to Hamlet, then kicked her horse into  
a gentle trot.

We headed out west of the main encampment, thankful that the sky was a brilliant  
blue and clear, save for a few clouds that scudded like tumbleweeds across the pristine azure  
surface. It was early afternoon and still cool, prime weather for having a picnic.

We rode along in silence for several minutes, relishing in the simple fact of one  
another's presence and the fact that the prairie around us was so blessedly quiet. Back among  
the wagons, it was sometimes hard to hear yourself think, what with all the chatter and such.  
Living in such close quarters had taken a bit of getting used to, I reflected wryly, especially  
considering that I'd been a confirmed solitary bachelor for centuries.

I relaxed in the saddle, whistling an old folk song I'd learned from Black Moccasin.  
A jackrabbit bounded away at the sound of the horses' hooves, vanishing into the dried sienna  
grass as if by magic. Several partridges and grouse took wing as well and I almost wished  
I had a gun or a bow so I could shoot one. Roasted partridge was a favorite dish of mine.

Marissa too eyed the birds longingly, then said, "Too bad I didn't think to bring along  
a rifle, we could have had some nice roasted game hens. Oh well. It's too fine a day to kill  
something, especially since Esmerelda went through all that trouble to feed us."

"My thoughts exactly," I remarked. "How much further to this picnic spot you  
mentioned?"

"Not too much longer. See that flat topped rock over yonder?" she pointed to a tall  
rock that appeared as if someone had sliced off the top of it with a knife. It was gray in color,  
though striated with several bands of color.

I nodded. "Looks like somebody painted it."

"Uh-huh. That's what I call it. Painted Rock. Just beyond it is a field with wild  
prairie roses and violets and other flowers. Pa and I used to go there all the time with my  
mother when I was small. Later, Maura, Nikko, and I used to come here when we were sick  
of being stuck in the wagons doing chores."

We trotted towards the painted rock, the horses hooves sounding rhythmically over  
the fragrant scent of hot grass. It was high summer now and the knee high grass was the color  
of golden corn and honey, dotted with small clumps of colorful violet and pink flowers. The  
wind ruffled my hair, as I'd removed my hat, allowing the breeze to cool the back of my neck.  
I wore casual denims and a blue cambric shirt, as well as a white neckerchief and my good  
leather boots.

Marissa was dressed in similar clothes, only her shirt was of a soft teal green color  
with sleeves that belled and her neckerchief was a pale lavender color. Unlike many women,  
she did not disdain the more practical denims and preferred them to skirts when she rode,  
though I'd also seen her don a pair of deerskin leggings on occasion too. Like most expert  
horsewomen she used her legs as her main mode of communication with her mount, and  
skirts tended to get in the way of her subtle signals, which was why she didn't wear them to  
ride.

"More women have suffered accidents riding because of fashion than I can count,"  
she'd told me one day after a practice. "If they'd paid more attention to their seat and their  
mount than the way their skirt falls or looking like pin-up for a magazine, there'd be a lot  
better riders. That side-saddle is the ruination of half the women in this country."

I, of course, agreed with her, having never understood the ridiculous convention. I  
was glad she had not succumbed to the lure of being fashionable. Thank the Norns for a  
woman with sense. Then again, she'd grown up out here, and a woman who was frivolous  
and decorative didn't last long in this untamed country.

Nor in Asgard either, my rebellious heart whispered. I drowned it out with another  
rendition of a trail song by Black Moccasin.

Soon enough we'd reached the broad swath of wild flowers growing in riotous  
profusion amid the sweet smelling golden prairie grass. I unpacked the red and white  
checked blanket Esmerelda had given us along with the bulging picnic hamper. Inside the  
basket were a set of silverware, napkins, plates and two tin cups. Marissa quickly filled these  
with water from the water jug, and both of us drank greedily, rinsing the trail dust from our  
mouths.

Then we set about picketing our mounts, leading them to the small water hole to  
drink, then putting them on a long rein to graze comfortably. Heror swished his black tail in  
delight, smacking me in the face as I fastened his lead.

I scowled at him and muttered in Norse, "Still sulking, are you, you incorrigible  
animal?"

"Oh, did I hit you?" Heror nickered in surprise. "Sorry, magician. I forgot you were  
there."

"Sure you did," I snorted.

"I did, honest. There was a fly biting me. And you don't know how good it feels with  
that saddle off your back. It was making me itch something dreadful."

I ran my hands over his back and off came handfuls of thick black hair. "You're  
shedding your winter coat," I murmured. "It's summer here, so you don't need it. That's  
why you're itching."

"I knew that," my stallion whinnied, then lay down in the grass and rolled, scratching  
the itchy places. I grinned and Marissa laughed, for when Heror rolled, he resembled nothing  
so much as an overlarge Labrador retriever.

I moved away from my horse then, coming to sit on a corner and help Marissa unpack  
the food Esmerelda had packed. There were thick sandwiches of ham and cheese, a jar of  
pickles, a plate of fried chicken, a salad of lentils and chickpeas in a delicious oil and vinegar  
dressing, and two huge pieces of cherry pie and a small sack of lemon cookies.

"What did she cook for an army?" I asked, my eyebrows rising at all of the food.

"Esmerelda always does," Rissa smiled, handing me a plate filled with food. "You  
ought to know that by now, Loki, as many times as you've eaten at her vardo."

"Guess so. Good thing riding always makes me hungry," I commented, biting into a  
drumstick. The batter on it was crispy and delightfully spicy and I devoured it. Nobody  
makes fried chicken like Esmerelda.

For several minutes we were too busy filling our bellies to make small talk. But at  
last, I was content to savor the rich crust and sweet tanginess of my cherry pie one bite at a  
time, half reclining against my saddle.

"You know, Esmerelda doesn't make cherry pie for just anyone," Marissa said,  
scraping the last of her slice from the tin plate. "She says that cherries are good for lovers."

"Oh? Like oysters?" I chuckled.

"Something like that. Though I've never understood why anyone would ever consider  
those things an aphrodisiac." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "They look like blobs of spit  
and they taste like it too. I like cherry pie much better." She eyed the remainder of my slice  
wistfully.

"So do I," I answered and gallantly fed her the remainder of my piece. "Well, you  
know what they say about Gypsy women."

"No, what do they say?"

"That they love to meddle in affairs of the heart. Your Esmerelda is a born  
matchmaker."

She grinned then, her smile as innocent as a little child's. "That she is. Are you  
prepared to accept her choice, magician?"

"Are you?" I whispered, then I put down the fork and reached for her. In all of ten  
seconds she was in my lap and we were kissing, searing kisses born of desire, laced with the  
sweetness of cherry pie.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, my reason was screaming to stop this foolishness,  
but I ignored it, for I was consumed by a desire far older and consuming than mere reason.  
There was an indefinable connection between Marissa and I, something I had never felt  
before, something I had never allowed myself to feel before, I should say. Perhaps it was  
knowing that I would soon be leaving her, or the mere fact that she was willing and eager and  
so was I. Whatever the reason, we had half our clothes off and I was gently showing her what  
a man could do with his hands and mouth to pleasure a woman, all of my fine-honed control  
scattered to the four winds.

She was kissing me back with equal passion, her lips at my ear, whispering, "Loki,  
God how I love you."

"I know. I have always known. You were meant for me and I for you," I said  
raggedly, reaching behind her to undo her light corset.

There was little doubt in my mind that I would have seduced her utterly that  
afternoon, so completely was I possessed by love's spell. I had denied myself the  
companionship of a woman for too long, not just physically, but mentally as well. Both my  
body and my heart were starving for it and so was Marissa, innocent though she was.

But our lovemaking was interrupted by Heror's shrill whistle of warning.

"Loki! Look sharp, a storm approaches!"

At first I was inclined to ignore him, irritated beyond words at having been  
interrupted. "Go away, Heror!" I growled, for my contrary stallion was nuzzling the back of  
my neck insistently. "Go take a nap, damn it!"

The black stamped both hooves, uncomfortably close to my foot. "No time for love,  
idiot magician! Use your eyes and brain and take a look at the horizon."

Swearing, I tore my eyes from Marissa. "Heror, this had better be good, or else I'm  
going to cut your damn tail off, I swear it."

But Rocket was whinnying in alarm too now, his eyes rolling. "Look to the east. It's  
a tornado!"

I did as the horses ordered and felt the last vestiges of desire flicker and fade,  
drowned under a tidal wave of sickening dread. "Norns have mercy!" I hissed, all the blood  
draining from my face. "God Almighty save us."

"What is it?" Marissa cried, also on her feet. "Jesus Christ, Loki! A twister."

The funnel of swirling black wind was coming towards us at terrifying speed.  
Without warning, out of nowhere, it was like a finger of doom, sweeping away everything in  
its path. Small animals came racing by us, driven by fear so great they ignored the fact they  
were in the presence of man, all they cared was seeking shelter from the terrible thing bearing  
down on them.  
But there was no shelter to be had. We were completely exposed out here to the fury  
of the tornado, for even the horses could never outrun the black wind. Marissa stared at it for  
one more minute, then began throwing the rest of the picnic supplies into the hamper. "The  
rock, Loki. If we can reach the rock, it may give us some shelter."

"Right. I'll saddle the horses." I threw the saddle over Heror's back, soothing him  
with a soft word. Luckily he was too smart to give me trouble and he trusted me.

Rocket was inclined to sidle and fight with me at first, half-rearing as I tried to saddle  
him, but Heror whistled commandingly, "Settle down, you blockhead and let him saddle you,  
for Equus' sake! You want to die here?" and at that the gelding came down, shaking in fear,  
and remained still.

Marissa handed me the basket, which I lashed to the back of my saddle and she took  
the blanket on hers, then we both mounted and rode hell for leather towards the shelter of the  
Painted Rock.

The tornado was probably at the most ten miles away, and we could feel the wind  
tugging at us even then, threatening to rip us off our mounts. Rocket and Heror didn't need  
to be urged to run, they were flying across the ground at breakneck speed, sheer terror driving  
them as it had their wild brethren. Not that I blamed them any. I had never seen a tornado  
that size come up so quickly.

How had it happened, I wondered as I crouched over Heror's withers. The sky had  
been a cloudless blue with no sign of any storm anywhere just half an hour ago. I felt the  
hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Unnatural. There was something unnatural about the  
way this tornado had just appeared. As if summoned up by magic.

The wind was growing stronger now, screeching like a banshee at our backs. I took  
a quick glance behind me and saw to my horror that the swirling column was also  
accompanied by purple lightning. I felt a sick sensation in my gut. This was no natural  
storm, but one summoned by magic. I could feel the magical energy pulsing now, sending  
quivers racing down my arms, setting my bones humming.

A natural spawned tornado was bad enough, exposed as we were. But a mage  
conjured one was ten times as deadly.

I set my mage senses out, trying to read the signature of the mage who had conjured  
such a disaster. And found Leif's sigil boosted by Gungnir's awesome might. Gods and hells.  
What in all the realms have you done, Leif? Are you trying to kill me or was this mere  
chance?

I had no more time for speculation. Whatever reason my rogue apprentice had for  
calling up this tornado was not as important as surviving its fury with my skin intact. Not to  
mention Marissa's. Who had the great fortitude not to panic once we reached the Painted  
Rock, but dismounted, stripped Rocket of his gear and slapped the gelding on the shoulder,  
bidding him to lie down. Then she pulled the picnic blanket over him, tying her neckerchief  
about her face. Above the lavender cloth her eyes were wide and scared.

I followed her example, stripping Heror and bidding him to lie down next to Rocket.  
Then I crawled beneath the flimsy shelter of the blanket and clasped Marissa's hand. "Loki?  
How much longer do you think we have before . . ." she didn't finish, her throat closing up.

I hugged her close. "I don't know. Maybe fifteen minutes or so. Maybe half-an-  
hour."

"Where did such a storm come from? It was beautiful weather not half an hour ago."

I shrugged, too angry at my reckless apprentice and too fearful for Marissa's safety  
to answer. She huddled close to me, shivering, knowing as well as I did that such a thing  
could spell both out deaths.

Softly, I began to whisper a ward spell, one of the strongest I could muster. I formed  
a bubble of protective energy over us and the horses, encasing us in a cocoon of magic. I  
threw all of my hoarded power and strength into the spell matrix, praying it would be enough  
to outlast the fury of Gungnir. The Spear of War had not been unleashed in ages, and it was  
hungry for blood.

I could hear its voice in the howl of the wind, the voice of all those souls clamoring  
for vengeance.

I cursed myself for a lamebrained idiot then. I should have seized the spear when I  
had the chance and to seven hells with everyone else. Instead I had allowed myself to be  
gulled into waiting, thinking that I would be swifter than my apprentice and able to counter  
any move he made. I had been lulled by love's sweet song, caught in a web of my own  
making, I admitted ruthlessly. Now I would pay the price.

Marissa was saying the Our Father beside me, her voice low and laced with fear. She  
knew as well as I the dangers of being caught out in a tornado. Rocket whickered in fear and  
I reached out and patted him, bidding him to be still.

He quieted under my hand as I used a trickle of magic to keep him calm. The last  
thing we needed was a fear-crazed gelding on our hands. From beyond the ward I could hear  
the shrill scream of the wind increase.

I pressed my cheek against Marissa's hair and murmured softly, "Don't be afraid,  
sweetling. I'll protect you."

It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all I could think of to alleviate her fear.

"How?" she asked shakily. "You going to pull a miracle out of your magic hat,  
Loki?"

"Something like that," I answered, and then I turned her face to mine and kissed her  
gently.

Some of my strength flowed into her and she ceased to tremble so violently.

"We picked a good day for a picnic, huh?" she joked feebly.

"Wouldn't be complete without a little danger."

She snuggled closer. "Well, at least if I die, I'll do it in good company."

"We aren't going to die, Rissa."

"You say that like you mean it."

"I do. Trust me. I'm doing everything in my power to make sure we live through  
this."

"Like what?"

"You'll see. Hush now, dearheart. I need to concentrate."

I called upon the strength of the earth, which was wild and untamed and had not been  
summoned to the hand of a mage for centuries. Nevertheless I wrestled with it and twisted  
its strands into my wizard ward. It was like trying to hold back a raging river with a paper  
dam I knew, but anything was better than nothing.

That done, I called out to Bella, warning her of the tornado's threat. *Warn everyone  
about it, child!* I ordered.

*What about you? And Marissa? Where are you?*

*We're under cover. Don't worry about us. Just do as I say. I can't talk anymore.  
I love you, Bella.*

*Love you too. Be safe.*

Then she was gone and I was left to face the fury of a mage-spawned tornado.

The tornado swept upon us with a soft hiss and a howl that nearly burst our eardrums.  
And between us and it was only the fragile shield of my magic, which was beginning to  
buckle under the strain of repelling a wind that was blowing over seventy miles per hour.

**A/N: This is not a cliffy . . .because I'm posting the next chapter right now!**


	22. Ask and Ye Shall Receive

**Ask and Ye Shall Receive**

﻿Alone with Heror I could have held the storm at bay, my magic was more than  
adequate for my own protection. But with Marissa and Rocket added to the equation, my  
magic was stretched very thin indeed. Too thin to withstand the assault of a mage-spawned  
storm conjured by my rebellious apprentice, I thought, cursing him with each breath. The  
wind rose to an unholy screech, as if all the tormented souls of hell were set loose and  
hungering for us. I could barely focus my thoughts over it.

Marissa had her arms about me, clinging to me like a barnacle. I would have  
appreciated it more if we were not in danger of being killed. As it was, all I could do was hug  
her back and whisper some meaningless words of comfort. In front of us, Heror and Rocket  
were whickering in fear, and I placed a hand on my stallion and ordered him to lie still and  
stay calm. We were finished if the horses succumbed to panic.

*Calm, calm, great one. Tis but the wind. Ignore it. It won't penetrate my shields,*  
I sent reassuringly to Heror, lying through my teeth, for I could feel the mage shield buckling  
as the tornado slammed into it repeatedly.

Heror snorted a command to Rocket, and then both horses went still, trusting me to  
get us out of this alive. I prayed to the Norns I could. The shield was firmly grounded in  
earth, so I knew the tornado would not be able to rip it up that way. No, we were in more  
danger of the wind collapsing it from above, for the dome of magic was thinner at the top  
than the bottom. I gritted my teeth and forced my will on the dome, throwing every last bit  
of my power and strength into it.

It was not enough, I realized in despair.

The tornado's power had the backing of the Black Spear behind it, and Gungnir had  
gone centuries without whetting its appetite for death and destruction. Now, unleashed, it  
would stop at nothing to sate that longing. And, strong though as I was, I was only one  
immortal magician.

Beside me, Marissa was praying, beseeching God and all the holy angels of the hosts  
to keep us safe.

I shut my eyes, struggling to keep my will focused, all the while feeling my paper thin  
shield bending and shivering, threatening to tear apart.

Damn you! Damn you! I will not let this happen. I WILL NOT!

I might have as well been spitting into the ocean, such was my will to that of the Spear  
of War.

I called out to Odin, to my fellow Asgardians, but all of them were too far away to  
help me. Indeed I didn't even know if they heard my plaintive psychic cry for help. But  
someone else did.

*I am here, my brother.*

I felt a familiar presence touch my mind, one I hadn't felt in an age. I grasped at it  
like a drowning man does a spar. *Who are you?*

*Do you truly not recognize me, Loki? I told you that one day we would meet again.*

Then I knew. "Jesus Christ!" I cried aloud, my voice raw with relief and exhaustion.

*Indeed. Though I am somewhat changed from when last you knew me, brother,* he  
said wryly.

That was an understatement. What had once been a brilliant presence to my immortal  
sense was now a bonfire. I opened my eyes and saw with my eldritch Sight not the darkness  
of the blanket, but the tall figure of my former friend, etched lightly with starfire. All of his  
mortal shell had been burned away, leaving only the pure energy of the divine.

I squinted, blinking back tears.

*I'd love to stay and chat, Jesus, but I'm kind of involved now, as you can see.*

*I heard you call out for help.*

*To Odin, yeah.* I admitted stiffly.

*Will I do instead?*

*You're a healer. Can you block Gungnir?*

*I can. But rules must be observed first.*

I bit my lip hard. I knew what he wanted. He was not of my pantheon. And the only  
way he could aid me was if I asked for his help directly. I hadn't called on the aid of another  
immortal in centuries. Especially not this one. Pride held me mute.

Then I glanced down at the slender woman huddled at my side.

*Ask and ye shall receive,* came Jesus' soft thought.

Pride be damned. I swallowed the bitter taste of defeat and held out my hand.

*Help me, brother. Please.*

*Gladly. My strength is thine.* Then Jesus' hand closed over mine.

And strength as I'd never known poured into me.

I sent it upwards, reinforcing the shield to withstand ten times the force that it did.  
My whole being was suffused with light, with the searing power of love, with a will stronger  
and more gentle than my own. It wrapped me and Marissa in a soothing wave of warmth and  
safety, protecting us utterly from the savage ferocity of the tornado.

Beyond the shield I knew the tornado raged, wailing and gnashing its teeth, but I no  
longer cared. For I was safe, cradled close in the palm of the Healer, and so were Marissa  
and the horses.

"It's going to be okay, sweetheart," I heard myself whisper to her, even as tears of  
relief slipped down my cheeks.

"I know," she whispered back, and I knew she felt Him too.

How longer we remained there, drifting in the cocoon of power lent to me by Jesus  
of Nazareth, I did not know. Minutes, hours, days? Time ceased to matter then. I could feel  
the wind begin to abate as the storm moved away, the power that had summoned it fading.

*It is finished, Loki. The one who summoned such destruction is gone from this  
realm.*

*Dead?*

*No. But he is no longer on Earth. I believe he has returned to your realm, Asgard.*

*Yeah, I kind of figured he'd do that. Leif knows better than to hang around the scene  
of a crime, the slippery little bastard.*

Jesus coughed, and I wondered if I ought to apologize for using such language in front  
of him. Then I shrugged, he was an adult, he'd heard it before. But what he said next nearly  
made me pass out. * Your apprentice did not summon that storm, Loki. Nor does he have the  
Black Spear now.*

*He doesn't?* I repeated dazedly. *Then who does?*

*I don't know. Only that the bearer is much older, more experienced, and bears more  
of a grudge against you and yours.*

I sighed. *Great, just great. I was hoping it was Odin.*

*No. The Black Spear knows its master. The one who holds it now is not the Gray  
Wanderer, but an old enemy of yours.*

*Wonderful. It never rains but it pours.* I slipped my hand free of Jesus' grasp. *Is  
it permitted to ask for your help again, brother?*

Regretfully, he shook his head. *Not for this. To save your life and that of your  
beloved, yes. But retrieving Gungnir is your task, Loki. I'm sorry.*

*Forget it. You've done enough. I owe you more than I'll ever be able to repay.*

*No. There are no debts between us, my brother. You gave me advice long ago and  
what I have done today balances the scales.*

I nearly choked. *My advice got you killed!*

*No, it showed me the way. My death was foretold, you could not have prevented it.  
Only by great sacrifice could my vision come to pass. I knew it, Loki. And I chose it,  
willingly. Now quit blaming yourself, magician. Self-flagellation does not become you.*

*But if I hadn't told you—*

*I asked and you answered. It was hardly your fault the answer was not comforting.  
As I told my disciples long ago, do not ask the question unless you are prepared to hear the  
answer. What's done is done, my brother. I died and was reborn. Birth is never an easy  
process, as well you know,* he said with a laugh.

I scowled. *Oh, shut up. That was unintentional, an accident.*

*Perhaps. Or perhaps not. It certainly taught you to respect women though. As my  
own sacrifice taught me to feel compassion and love for all mankind.*

*You already felt that,* I argued.

*Not the way I do now, Loki. I was a Healer, I took away the suffering of others. Yes,  
I felt empathy for them, but I never knew what it was like to truly FEEL what they did. I was  
privileged in my upbringing, I never knew true hardship until that day. On that day I  
understood what it was to truly BE mortal. It transformed me, physically and  
metaphysically.*

*Wonderful. You telling me that everyone should go out and nail themselves to a  
cross now?*

*Of course not. There is pain and suffering enough for mortals without that. My  
sacrifice was for them and for myself, to make the world better. I never intended for it to be  
copied. *He eyed me sternly, the way a teacher will a misbehaving student. * Although you've  
done a pretty good job of nailing your heart to a cross instead, brother. *

*What are you talking about?*

*You know what I mean. All those doubts and self-recriminations you have are the  
nails that bind you. I can only absolve you of a few. I forgive you for the part you played,  
however unwillingly, in my death. Now you must forgive yourself.*

*All right. I will.* I agreed. At those words, a sense of lightness overcame me, as the  
cloak of guilt I'd carried about for centuries slipped away, and I smiled. Yet I sensed that I  
was still not truly free. *What now?*

*Now all that remains is for you to trust the one you love. Don't be afraid to love her,  
Loki. Love will set you free.*

*I thought that was truth.*

*They are one and the same.*

*I seem to remember having a similar conversation with you long ago.*

His eyes twinkled. *True. Only this time I hope you will do me a favor and take my  
advice. I must go. Farewell, my brother. Peace be with you.*

*And also with you, brother,* I said humbly. *Until we meet again.*

Jesus smiled. Then he was gone, and the strength he had given me was gone too. I  
felt it flicker and fade like a guttered candle. I released my hold on my magic and all of the  
exhaustion and strain I'd been battling suddenly came back and knocked me right on my ass.  
I didn't even bother to fight it. I simply toppled over onto Marissa and fell asleep. She never  
even noticed, for she too was far away in the land of dreams.

* * * * * *  
I woke with the aftertaste of dust in my mouth and the remnants of what should have  
been a throbbing headache, given the amount of magic I'd used. I'd practically drained  
myself down to nothing and normally overusing my Talent that way would have left me flat  
on my back for three days, weak as a newborn kitten. But, to my surprise, I was unpleasantly  
stiff from sleeping against bare rock, and sore from being banged against said rock during the  
tornado, but otherwise I was fine.

I figured this was due to the divine intervention I'd called upon yesterday. I sent a  
quiet thank you heavenward. Then I pushed off the sweltering blanket that covered me and  
Marissa and gazed up at the first rays of an early dawn. I squinted at the streaks of purple and  
rose that tinted the now clear blue sky though my immortal sense of time had told me it was  
early morning as soon as I'd woken.

I wasn't surprised I'd slept that long, nobody bounces back after wrestling with a  
tornado after only a few hours, immortal or otherwise. Heror and Rocket had gotten to their  
feet and were cropping grass a few feet away. I grinned at the sight. Then I propped myself  
on an elbow and looked down at the still slumbering woman curled in my right arm.

I would have loved to remain like that forever, just holding her. What man wouldn't?  
I mulled over the advice I'd been given, wondering if it'd be kinder to just slip away, leaving  
her with a mere memory of my presence. Having me in her life would complicate things  
immensely.

But I rejected that line of thinking. I was no coward, and making her forget me was  
a coward's trick. Also, I didn't want her to forget me. Too many mortals had done that over  
the centuries. Plus, if I'd read her right, she was falling in love with me, and it wouldn't be  
fair to her to take that away.

If she were going to reject me for what I was, she would have to do it willingly.

Though I prayed that she wouldn't. I had known too much rejection in my life.

But what mortal woman would choose to stay with an immortal magician with a  
reputation like I had? A cynical part of my mind sneered.

One who loves you, a hopeful part of my heart whispered.

Ah, but would she still love me once I told her the truth?

Jesus seemed to think so.

I wasn't as optimistic.

But there was only one way to find out.

I shook Marissa's shoulder gently.

Her eyes opened, and she smiled sleepily up at me. "Loki? Is it morning already?"

"Sure is, sunshine. I'm just glad we're alive to see it."

"Me too." She stretched leisurely, then sat up. She glanced about her slowly, then  
said, "God was with us yesterday."

"Yeah, He sure was." More than you'll ever know. I rolled to my feet, wincing as my  
back protested my sudden movement. "You all right?"

"Fine. Just a bit stiff. Sleeping on rock will do that to you," she admitted with a  
rueful grin. Then she added, "Though you make a wonderful pillow."

I chuckled. "Glad you think so. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but not  
that."

We separated then to attend to personal business, but afterwards we returned to the  
blanket, which we folded together, while giving each other surreptitious glances from beneath  
our lashes.

"Do you think the camp was hit by the tornado too?" she asked at last.

"Maybe. With a storm like that, anything's possible. But we'll find out once we go  
back." I answered. Then I took the bull by the horns and said, "Before we do though, there's  
something I've got to tell you, Rissa." I sat down on the blanket. "You might want to sit  
down. This will take awhile."

I sent another silent prayer to Jesus that he'd been right about trusting her. Then I  
opened my mouth and told her the truth. Not everything, there wasn't time for me to relate  
my entire history, but I told her who I really was, who Bella was, and where I really came  
from. I told her about Leif, Gungnir, and my attempt to shield us with magic that had nearly  
failed.

To my surprise, she didn't ask me for a demonstration of my magic. Instead she  
seemed more impressed with the fact that I was personal friends with Jesus. Which, I'll  
admit, was nothing to sneeze at.

"You called on God and He answered you?" her eyes were wide.

"Yes. But I didn't really think he'd answer me. I was just as surprised as you." More  
in fact. But then again, I'd never been that desperate before. "You're taking all of this a lot  
better than I expected. Is that because you believe me or do you think I'm totally insane?"

"No. I believe you. Any other woman would definitely nominate you as a candidate  
for an asylum, but I know you're telling me the truth. I told you once before, I believed in  
magic. I was raised by a Gypsy woman, so I know magic isn't just an act to fool the gullible,  
though Esmerelda has been known to rely on props a time or two during a reading. Just as  
you do during your magic act. You're the real thing, Loki of Asgard. Just like Esmerelda  
said you'd be."

"What do you mean?"

She colored faintly, as if she were embarrassed, but she met my eyes squarely. "I, ah,  
asked her to do a reading for me just before you signed on with us. It's not something I  
usually ask her, because most tarot readers don't like to see for family members. But  
something told me it was important, so I asked her for one. She agreed. One of my cards was  
the Magician. Normally that card indicates a change in a person's life. But in my case,  
Esmerelda interpreted it to be both a figurative and a literal thing. The Magician will come  
and he will change your life, she told me. And you did come, and my life was changed.  
Though I'll admit the last thing I expected was to fall in love with you."

"You can still say that, even after what I just told you?" I repeated incredulously.

"I can. Immortal or mortal, Loki, I really do love you. And I don't say that about just  
anyone. Matter of fact, I've never told that to any man except my father."

"Not even that boy from Boston?"

"That was puppy love," she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I was sixteen,  
what did I know about love? But this . . .this is different. Don't ask me why, cause I can't tell  
you. At least not so it'd make sense. But from the minute I saw you, I knew you could be  
trusted not to hurt me."

"That's a first. Usually people have the opposite reaction, once they learn my name."

She snorted. "I never pay attention to gossip. Besides, if the Almighty calls you  
friend, who am I to judge you?"

"How do you know He doesn't have awful taste in friends?" I demanded outrageously.

She gaped at me for a full ten seconds, then sputtered, "Well because-because He's  
God. And He'd never make a mistake like that. Besides, you saved my life. Twice. Nearly  
got yourself killed both times too. And a man only does that if he truly cares about a  
woman."

"You're right. I really do care for you, Marissa Turner. In fact I think I love you, and  
that's something I've never said to any woman, mortal or immortal, until you. I never  
intended for this to happen. When I came down here it was to retrieve Gungnir, not to get  
involved with a mortal woman."

"I know. Are you sorry this happened then?"

"No. Though by the Nine Hells, I ought to be. Falling in love with a mortal woman  
is supposed to be poison for someone like me." I admitted frankly. "Instead, it's the best  
thing that ever happened to me. Least it feels that way."

"Good. Because I feel the same way about you," she said simply. The next thing I  
knew she was in my arms and kissing me.

It was a moment before I registered what she was doing, my brain was still stumbling  
over the fact that I'd actually admitted I loved her. Luckily, my body wasn't relying on my  
brain and it knew what to do instinctively. I kissed her back with equal fervor. More even  
because I could sense that she truly meant what she'd said. It was not an act or a sham. She  
truly accepted me for who and what I was. As an empath, I knew what a rare gift that was.  
Best of all, I returned her feelings in full measure.

The white-hot glow of passion consumed me and there is little doubt in my mind that  
I would have made love to her right then had not Heror interrupted us with a snort and a  
shove to my shoulder.

I drew away, casting an annoyed glare at the big horse. "Odin's bloody eye, Heror!  
Go get lost or something," I ordered angrily.

"Why? So you and the pale female can play mating games? I wouldn't have thought  
she was in season yet. Although you humans, unlike mares, seem to be forever in that state,  
if your people are any example," Heror snickered in Equus.

I felt my face go red and I muttered, "Shut up and go away, Heror." I longed  
desperately to return to that moment when I had held Marissa in my arms, before we had beenso rudely interrupted by my too-observant horse, but that moment had been lost.

"Loki, were you speaking with your horse just now?" Marissa asked, her voice tinged  
with awe, her eyes bright with child-like wonder.

I nodded. "Yes. Heror and I can speak to each other in Equus, which is the language  
of all horses. But he can also speak in Norse as well. He's not an ordinary horse, Rissa. Like  
me, he's magical."

Marissa nodded, smiling. "I guessed from the first time I rode him. No ordinary  
horse would have picked up on my cues and learned my routine so quickly. He's a wonder  
and a marvel."

"He's an interfering pain in the ass, is what he is," I scowled. "I don't know why I put  
up with him."

"Because you love him." Marissa said simply.

"Not as much as I love you."

She laughed. "Now that is a real miracle. For you to love me at all. Might I ask what  
it is that you see in me, a mere bareback rider, daughter of a circus performer? There must  
be dozens of women out there who are prettier, more cultured, richer than I am. Why me?"

"Why does night follow day? Why do the stars shine in the heavens? Why can a fish  
breathe water? Because it was meant to be. I know only that I love you, that I need you the  
way a bird needs wings or a bee needs honey, in a way that I've never needed a woman until  
you, Marissa Turner."

"Oh, Loki. I can't believe you just said that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Yes, but it still amazes me that you can say such things about me, an ordinary  
woman."

"Ordinary? You? Never. One thing which I can tell you, and which you ought to  
believe beyond all doubt, is that you are anything but ordinary, Marissa. Trust me on that.  
There is no one like you on this world or any other. And I don't give a damn if there are other  
women out there who are prettier, or more accomplished, or who are related to royalty. All  
that is unimportant. What's inside a person counts more than the outside."

"I have never heard any man say such things before," she admitted shyly.

"Then you've been talking to the wrong men, sweetheart."

"I take it you aren't one of those traditionalist who think all a woman is good for is  
cooking, cleaning, and having children?"

I burst out laughing at the indignation in her tone when she said such things. "Ah,  
Marissa, all the women I've ever known can put their hand to just about any task a man can,  
and do it quicker and better than some even. I know better than to classify women as the  
weak whimpering milksops you mortal men claim they are. In fact, I've never understood  
the fascination mortal men have with women who are subservient and meek. I find them  
unutterably dull and boring. I like my women sharp and sassy. I want a partner, not a  
doormat."

"Well, if you really mean that, Loki, we should get on just wonderfully."

Grinning, I kissed her once more, then reluctantly drew away. "Come. We should  
be getting back, before they send out a search party."

"Right," she sighed reluctantly, but then began to tack up Rocket. "I hope everyone  
else survived the tornado without too much trouble."

I cinched Heror's saddle and mounted. "If Bella was able to ward the camp in time,  
the damage hopefully will be minor and easily repaired," I comforted her.

I didn't even want to imagine what the damage would be like if she hadn't. The  
aftermath of a powerful tornado is not something you ever forget once you've witnessed it.  
Nature like most of my more warlike fellow immortals, takes no prisoners and shows no  
mercy.

I turned Heror's nose back towards our encampment and gave the big black his head.  
He ran like a swift tongue of black flame over the prairie. Normally I would have been  
enraptured at the speed of my magical mount, but today I was uneasy and twitchy, and my  
stomach felt as if I'd swallowed a lump of lead or eaten Thor's cooking.

Back at camp, the place was in an uproar. Despite my warning, Bella had had time  
to throw only the quickest and easiest of shields over the wagons and animals before the  
tornado struck. Even with her shield in place and her ability to blunt the worst of the wind's  
force with her magic, the twister had still done considerable damage.

Trees near the campsite had been uprooted and flung through the air, one had landed  
right on top of the wagon with the strong box. Another had crashed into the cage of one of  
the tigers, Tundra, and driven a three-foot branch into the cat's hind leg. Bella was working  
with Johnny to heal the big cat, allowing the trainer to hold the cat's head while she cleaned  
the wound and healed it unobtrusively with her magic.

The Flynns had lost a few shingles off their vardo's roof but were otherwise  
unharmed. Everyone else had seemed to have sustained minor injuries, scrapes, bruises and  
such, but nothing life threatening. We were greeted with cries of delight and relief, for when  
we did not return, our friends had feared the worst. I accepted the hugs and kisses of  
Esmerelda and Rowena and a grin and a handshake from Nicco and Marco, plus a one-armed  
hug from Hawk before going over to picket Heror near Flicker and Fleetfoot. They too were  
relieved to see their stablemate safe and unharmed, and I was sure Heror would be telling  
them of his close encounter with death for months to come.

I left my stallion telling his war stories, inbetween munching a nosebag of oats, and  
went to see if Bella needed any help with Tundra. I needn't have worried, between her and  
Johnny, they had the situation well under control. After reassuring me that she was fine and  
quite capable of stitching up the gash marring the beautiful cat's snow white fur, I left her to  
it and went over to inspect the ruined wagon with the locked chest containing Gungnir.

The tree had landed on the back half of the wagon, its top smashing the wagon in and  
leaving the roots sticking up like a parody of some giant hand. I picked my way carefully  
through the wreckage, illuminating the dark interior with a simple witchlight. The chest had  
been behind the desk where Matthew and the unlamented Mr. Tims had done the accounting.  
Bits of wood and canvas had fallen on the desk and the splintered branches of a cottonwood  
tree were scattered all over. I carefully moved some of the branches with a whispered word  
of magic, and caught sight of the corner of the warded chest.

Eagerly, I flung aside the large branch that lay atop the chest, moving it to the other  
side of the wagon with a thump. The top of the chest had been battered somewhat by the  
branch, but aside from a few dents and scratches and a smashed corner, didn't look half-bad.

But as I drew closer to it, my magical senses extended to cancel the wards, I knew  
something was wrong. The wards had been reset, but not with my smooth finesse. They'd  
been patched together clumsily, some of the runes had been broken and repaired in a hurry,  
so they didn't flow together and connect seamlessly.

I cursed low and viciously in Old Norse, then removed the wards with a hissed word  
of magic. I flipped up the lid of the chest, knowing already what I would find.

Nothing.

Gungnir was gone, and this time there was not even a facsimile to take its place.

The author of that tornado had wasted no time in using the storm as a cover to steal  
the Spear of War and Death.

I cast about desperately with my magical senses, trying in vain to determine where the  
spear had gone. All I got for my trouble was a raging headache.

Stupid! I mentally berated myself. How could I have been so stupid? I should have  
snatched the spear when I had the chance, instead of using it as bait. Instead the trap had  
been sprung and I had missed my quarry.

I don't know how long I remained there, staring at the wreckage and the empty trunk,  
cursing myself and Leif with every breath I took, but the sound of Hawk calling my name  
brought me back to myself.

"Loki! Loki, where are you?"

"Here," I answered, stumbling back out of the wagon. "What's the matter, son?"

"It's Matthew. You gotta come quick, he's hurt real bad and Marissa says you're the  
only one who can save him." Hawk reported gravely, his eyes wide with fear and the shreds  
of a desperate hope.


	23. Sorrow and Salvation

**Sorrow and Salvation**

I followed Hawk swiftly through the main camp, concern for my employer making my throat tighten. Only then did I recall that Matthew had not been among those of the circus folk to welcome us back. When I questioned Hawk about it, the young acrobat said that the circus manager had gone into town to get a last minute wagonload of supplies and been caught unprepared when the tornado had veered and hit the town. Unable to get to shelter in time, he'd been thrown right out of the wagon seat and slammed hard against the side of a building. The townsfolk had found him lying senseless after the tornado had gone and had just now brought him home.

"That gadje Boswell took one look at him and said there was nothing he could do for him and we ought to just summon a priest," Hawk said with a derisive snort. "And I told Marissa that she ought to let you examine him before she started to build a coffin yet. So she told me to fetch you quick as lightning. She said if anybody could save him, you could, Loki."

I turned to the boy. "Where is he? In his vardo?" Hawk nodded. "Run and fetch my medical satchel, please. It's hanging on a hook to the left of the door." I ordered. "Then tell Bella to come to me as soon as she can."

Hawk took off like a shot, leaving me to make my way alone to Matthew's wagon. I prayed to the Norns that Boswell had exaggerated the state of the elder Turner's injuries, but I knew that even so, Bella could mend him quicker than ever I could.

I entered the wagon without bothering to knock, finding a distraught Marissa crouched next to his bunk, her eyes red rimmed and wet from tears. She gazed at me as if I were a saint come to offer salvation and said, "Thank God Hawk found you, Loki. My father . . .he's hurt really bad and that idiot Boswell won't even examine him. I know you know some medicine and . . .magic," she whispered that last in a voice that was barely audible. "Please, if you can, help him." She bit her lip hard and I knew she was fighting back tears.

"I'll try my best, darling," I murmured, gripping her shoulder in silent commiseration. "Has he woken up at all since they brought him home?"

"Not really. He muttered something and once his eyes opened, but he closed them soon after and since then he's been asleep."

I knelt down beside the bunk, running eyes and hands over his head and his torso. I could tell even with my cursory inspection that he was in a bad way. There was a large lump alongside his head and his face was bruised and cut from his impact with the building.

There was swelling along his ribs as well and I was almost positive several were broken. With Marissa's help, I gently removed his shirt and found another six inch cut across his chest. God only knew what kind of internal injuries he'd sustained. I flicked up an eyelid, finding his pupils dilated all out of proportion, a very bad sign. His breathing was shallow and raspy.

"Can you do anything for him?"

"Well . . ." I sighed, then shook my head. "Not much, I'm afraid. He's got several ribs broken and I can mend that, but it's the head wound that really concerns me. I'm no surgeon, and if his brain was damaged when he hit that wall . . .I won't lie to you, Rissa, he might die."

"What about . . .you know?" she made a gesture with her fingers as if casting a spell.

"Aw, sweetheart, I wish I had magic enough to heal him, but my Talent's never been strong in that area. That's why I sent for Bella. She's much stronger than me in the healing arts."

Just then Hawk returned with my satchel and Bella in tow, I thanked him and told him to ask his mother to make us a pot of coffee and something to eat. He left without argument, I think he sensed how serious the situation still was. Beside me, Marissa began to pray fervently.

I opened my satchel and took out my bottle of antiseptic and Asgardian healing salve and began to work on the slash in his chest. Bella moved over next to me, darting one glance at Marissa, and muttering, "Let me get a look at his eyes, Father."

"It's all right, Bella. She knows," I told her swiftly. "Just go ahead and use your magic."

My daughter gaped at me for about fifteen seconds, then turned back to her patient, holding her hands over the motionless form of Matthew Turner. A soft blue glow gathered at the tips of her fingers and arched downward to illuminate Matthew's head and chest. Bella remained with her head bowed, concentrating on the gravely injured man for several more minutes.

I sensed before she emerged from her trance that it was no good. Her magic had knitted back the broken ribs but the damage to his brain was too much even for her skills.

"I'm sorry. I've managed to relieve the swelling on his brain somewhat, but I can't repair the damage. Maybe if I'd been there in the beginning, I could have, but it's been too long and the bleeding's too widespread. . . .I'm sorry."

Marissa lifted her head, giving my daughter a single pleading glance. "But . . .you're a healer, Loki said so. You can heal with magic, you healed Hawk's arm."

"Broken bones are different, Marissa. They're not complex and I have no difficulty mending them," Bella explained. "But head injuries like this . . .even if I were at full strength, I couldn't guarantee he'd be able to function normally ever again. The brain—it doesn't repair itself the way most organs and such do in the body. When a part of the brain is dead, it's dead forever. Magic can't heal everything, I'm afraid. The best I can do is make him comfortable, maybe wake him up so he can speak to you for a bit. After that, though . . ."

"Then there's no hope at all?"

Bella shook her head sadly. "If there were, I'd be doing my damned best to heal him. But some things are beyond even magic's touch. All I can do is make sure he's not in any pain."

"How long does he have . . .if you do what you said?"

"I can't say for sure. A few hours at worst. The best is a few days or maybe a week." Bella answered truthfully. "Gods and hells, but I wish I could do more. I truly am sorry."

Marissa reached out and squeezed her hand. "It's okay. No sense blaming yourself. Please, do what you can. I'd like to talk to him . . .just once more before . . ." her voice broke and tears streamed down her face.

I moved to comfort her, but she wiped away the tears and waved me away. I understood. She could not afford to let her emotions free reign yet. She wanted to bid her father goodbye with dignity, not weeping incoherently.

Bella had already turned back to the still form of Matthew Turner, calling on the remainder of her healing magic to free him from pain and restore consciousness to him for the last time. A soft golden glow spread from her hands, haloing Matthew in an unearthly glow for a few minutes.

An instant later it had vanished and Bella slumped against me, exhausted. "Go and rest, little one," I murmured to her, and she cast me a grateful smile and excused herself.

I could hear Matthew's breathing even out, then I saw his eyelids flicker, and suddenly his eyes were open, and the first person they saw was his beloved daughter.

"Pa? It's me, Marissa," she spoke quietly, one hand reaching out to clasp his hand.

I busied myself putting away my medicines, not wanting to intrude on this private moment.

I moved out into the main room, righting a chair that had been tipped over and seating myself on it. I had no wish to eavesdrop on their conversation and wished I dared leave, but I didn't want to leave Marissa alone to deal with her grief afterwards, and so I stayed. Since when have you been so self-sacrificing? A cynical part of my mind demanded. Why should the pain of a mortal woman matter so much to one such as you?

Since I let myself love her, I snapped back and silently bid that part of myself to shut up. Uncomfortable as I was being a silent witness to Matthew's deathbed conversation, I would have endured ten times that if it would ease his daughter's sorrow at her father's passing. I only wished I could do more for her. But the Norns had set their hand on Matthew and not even an immortal could gainsay their choice. His doom was upon him, as all those old Norse skops would say.

The two spoke quietly for a few more moments, then Marissa came out into the front room and touched my shoulder lightly. "Loki? He's asking for you."

"Me?" I was astonished. That was the last thing I'd expected. Esmerelda, Marco, but not me.

"Yes. He says there's something he needs to ask you."

I was not about to refuse the last request of a dying man, and I rose to my feet and walked over to the bunk. Matthew lay somewhat propped up by several pillows and his eyes were bright with the knowledge that he was dying. I had seen many men on the brink of death in my long life, but Matthew was one of the most serene and accepting I'd ever known.

"You wanted to tell me something, Matthew?"

"Yeah. I don't have long and I wanted to get somethings settled before I go up to Jesus." He cleared his throat. "Rissa tells me you're the one for her. Guess I can't complain too much, seeing as how I'm a performer myself. Like calls to like. But I want to make sure of a few things before I go."

"I understand."

"Do you love her?"

"I do. More than I ever thought possible."

"Good. Second thing is will you make sure she's provided for after I'm gone? She'll inherit this circus lock, stock, and barrel, but one person can't run it on their own. Will you make sure to help her, even if she don't ask you straight out? Rissa's a lot like me, she's got her pride and she don't like owing favors. But she might let you help her when she wouldn't anybody else in the show."

"Whatever she needs, I'll give her," I reassured him. "I mean to marry her, Matthew, if she'll agree. And I don't mind a wife who owns a business. I'm not the kind of man who's intimidated by a woman being independent financially."

Matthew laughed hoarsely. "Didn't figure you were, Loki. But it's good to hear you say it. Rissa's never been what you'd call a proper modest woman. They're a different breed out West, this country ain't kind to hothouse belles from back East. That kind gets broken real quick. I brought up my girl to know her own mind and then to act on it, whether or not her man agrees with her."

I smiled at him. "I knew that already, and I told her it doesn't bother me. My first wife was no mealy-mouthed shadow either."

"Third thing. Make her happy, Loki. That's my last request. She hasn't had a lot of experience with men and I want to make sure she's happy. She doesn't need to be rich, but she does need to know that you love her and care for her. I want her to have a good marriage, like mine and her mama's. That's not gonna be easy, but if you love her it's possible." He sighed softly. "Damn it all, but I really wanted to be there for the wedding. She's my only daughter and I want to see her happy and settled down."

I lowered my eyes, for what else could I say to that? Were I in his place, I'd want the same. "Is there anyone we could get to perform a wedding ceremony?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not now. Nearest preacher is in Last Chance, it'd take him least a week to get here and I know I don't have that kind of time left to me. But that's as God wills, I guess." He leaned over then and grasped my wrist. "Promise me you'll make her happy, Loki Sigurdson. Swear a solemn oath to God and then I can die in peace."

I met his eyes without flinching and said, "I swear to you by God and all I hold dear that I'll make her as happy as any woman could wish for, for as long as I live. Will that suit you, Matthew Turner?"

"It'll do. Thank you," the dying man nodded and gave me a wicked grin. "And if you ever break your word, I promise I'll come back from heaven and kick your ass good."

I laughed softly. "I just bet you would, my friend. Have no fear, I'll remember."

He sank back down onto his pillows again, his face going a shade paler than before. "That's good. Can you tell Esmerelda, Marco, and the kids to come here? I'd like to say goodbye to them."

"Of course. And I'll send Marissa back in here too." I clasped his hand one last time, sending a wave of reassurance into his mind, so that he could die peacefully. "Farewell, Matthew. You were the best employer I ever had. The Lord will have a place saved for you at His table."

"I sure hope so."

"I know so," I said firmly, then I left to get the Flynns.

They emerged from the dying man's bedside a few minutes later, grave and silent, tears running freely down their faces. Marissa took up vigil at her father's side then and stayed there until he breathed his last, some three days later. I think he lingered long enough to set his affairs in order and to reassure himself that his only child would be happy and provided for.

I made up some strong pain medicines for him so that he could slip away peacefully, and indeed, when he died, his face bore an expression of sweet serenity and peaceful repose upon it, which almost made me believe in the heaven the Christians insisted waited for them after death.

I was at his side when he breathed his last, lending silent comfort to his stricken daughter, who was beside herself with sorrow, disbelief, and anger that her father had left her so suddenly. She kept begging him not to leave her and her whispered entreaties nearly broke my heart in two.

I had seen many mortals die in my life, some most hideously, by war or famine or torture, but nothing had ever prepared me for the gut-wrenching agony of witnessing Marissa's pain and being utterly helpless to assuage it. Words were so inadequate, cold comfort to one who would face the loss of a person whom she loved and relied on, who was the only blood relation she had left. I knew no poor words of mine would ever heal the wound in her soul left by Matthew's passing. Only time could do that.

Yet I stayed by her, holding her hand, lending her support by my presence, pitiful comfort that it was. She seemed grateful for it, though she never asked me to use my magic to heal him again. She sensed, as I did, that no earthly power would hold him here, and all she could do was be with him till the end.

When at last his breath ceased, she kissed his forehead and whispered, "Be at peace, Pa. Ma's waiting for you." Then she looked at me and said, "It's over. At least he didn't suffer too long. For that, I thank you, Loki."

I swallowed sharply. "I only wish I could've done more, Rissa."

She shook her head slowly. "You did all you could. God wanted him, I guess. I just wish . . .I could've had him with me for a little bit longer." Her face crumpled then. "I'm gonna miss him so damned much!"

I gathered her in my arms then and held her while she sobbed. I held her for a long time, allowing her grief to spend itself on my shoulder, hugging her like a child, wishing I could do more than rock her and murmur meaningless lullabyes in her ear. But even an immortal is powerless in the face of mortal death, and not all of my magic could drive away her grief. There is no potion in existence that will cure a broken heart.

All I could do was be there for her, and together we wept and mourned the loss of Matthew Turner, friend and beloved father.

* * * * * *

There were plenty of mourners at the funeral—the entire cast of the Turner's Traveling Circus and many of the nearby townsfolk who Matthew had impressed with his genial honest and good nature and his willingness to stand a few drinks down at the tavern.

We buried him beneath the shade of a pretty flowering apple tree in the cemetery. Marissa commissioned a mason to make him a headstone, but for now we had a rude marker of a wooden cross set up with his name and the dates of his birth and death. Bella and I stood a little bit away during the eulogy, performed with dramatic fervor by Marco, for we had not known him half as well as the rest of his troupe.

We trudged sadly back to our circle of wagons, Esmerelda and Rowena had prepared a funeral feast for all of us. Marissa was now being comforted by her foster mother and sister, so I hung back a little, feeling awkward, though I too was honestly distressed by Matthew's death. Bella was upset as well, I knew, because she had been unable to save him, though she said very little to me during the procession.

I picked a bit at the cornbread and hearty beef stew and dark beer that was set out inside the Flynn's vardo, but soon the depressing atmosphere was making my temples throb. I had to work at keeping my shields up, so the press of so much emotions would not overwhelm me. As soon as I was able, I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, content for the moment to nurse my grief in private near the pickets where the Flynns' Vanner horses were.

I leaned on the axle tree of the vardo, contemplating how fleeting the life of a mortal was, when there came a soft touch on my arm. "Papa?"

I turned. "What is it, Bella?"

"Did you know that Gungnir is missing?"

I nodded. "Yes. I noticed it was gone soon after I arrived back here. Why?"

"Because I know who took it," came a new voice from off to the side.

I spun around to face Leif Malasteinsson, my missing apprentice.

"So, the prodigal son returns," I commented dryly, and saw him wince with shame, which satisfied me immensely.


	24. The Prodigal Son Returns

**The Prodigal Son Returns**

My satisfaction was short-lived, for as Leif stepped into a patch of fading sunlight, I could see he was bruised and cut about the face, his lower lip crusted with dried blood. He was dressed in faded denims and a blue shirt that had seen better days. He wore a red bandanna knotted about his neck, which he kept tugging at nervously. Worn black boots and a leather belt completed his ensemble. His blond hair was still slightly shaggy, making him resemble a lost waif. Indeed, the look in his blue eyes was one of wariness, like a stray dog unsure of the welcome he'd receive. It reminded me with a sharp pang of the morning I'd found him on my porch, beaten half to death and terrified out of his wits. I have ever had a soft spot for those poor unfortunate wretches life has abused without mercy, and in spite of my anger, I could not help feeling sorry for him.

"She do that to you?" I queried gently, indicating his face. I thought it likely, given Bella's fierce temper when she was roused.

Leif shook his head once. "No. Well, she gave me that cut on my lip, but the rest I had from before."

"I see." I remarked, and waited for the rest of his explanation.

Instead Bella jumped in, saying remorsefully, "I'd never have done that if I'd known his father'd been at him. But I lost my temper and wouldn't let him talk . . ." she trailed off in shame.

"It's nothing, I deserved it and some worse, leaving you like that," Leif said quickly, his eyes now burning brightly with concern and love, I saw to my utter astonishment. "I never meant for things to turn out like this, Bella. I should have left well enough alone, but I didn't and now things are messed up as usual." He hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I know it's not much and you'll probably not ever forgive me, but it's all I can say. I never meant to hurt you, or Bella either."

I cleared my throat. "What's between you and Bella is your own affair, young man. I'll leave that to you two to work out. As far as your apprenticeship goes, you were free to leave whenever you wished, though I hoped you'd give me some notice. But there is one question I want answered. Where in blazes is Gungnir?"

I expected him to look away, unable to meet my gaze. Instead he straightened up and looked me square in the face. "My father took it. I wasn't going to let him have it, not till he agreed to let me marry Bella, but he's never been one to let anybody dictate terms to him, and he found out where I hid it and came to fetch it himself. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong and too angry with me to listen to reason. I'm sorry, Master. I thought I could trust him . . .my mistake cost all of us dearly."

"That it did, lad," I said gravely, and saw him go pale at my words. I reached out a hand and laid it gently on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "But I forgive you for it."

"You do? But why?"

"Because you're not the first kid to make a mistake, Leif Malasteinsson. All of us do at your age. Me included." I answered honestly. Norns was that ever true. At his age, I'd bounced from one mistake to the next like a rubber ball. "Besides, a wise man once said, to err is human, to forgive divine. And we immortals are at least partially divine, so I can forgive you without too much of a fuss, right?"

He eyed me askance, as if wondering when I'd stop being so nice and start swinging at him. "You're not kidding, are you? You really mean that, don't you?"

"Yes," I reassured him, and saw his lower lip begin to tremble. "Come on," I said quickly, before he lost his composure in front of Bella. "Let's take a walk and you can start at the beginning."

He hesitated, darting a glance at Bella, who smiled at him and said, "Go on, Leif. Tell Father what you told me. He'll understand."

Looking like he'd just received a writ of execution, Leif followed me across the picket line and out onto the prairie. We walked along in silence for a few moments, allowing Leif to gather his thoughts. At last I said, "What made you steal the damned spear in the first place? Did your father order you to do it?"

"No. It was my own idea," he admitted softly. "Back when I was courting Bella, and I knew that I truly loved her and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I wanted to see if my father would at least give his consent to the match. I told myself it didn't really matter if he did or not, I'd still marry Bella anyhow, but I wanted . . ." He coughed suddenly, and I saw the anguish he tried to hide. But he brushed it aside and continued after a moment. "All of my life I've been the youngest and the least of my family, the one nobody notices, except to make fun of or do some chore that nobody else will do. That was why I volunteered to serve in Valhalla, because I thought it would show my father that I was just as brave and good as my older brothers and my sister. I wanted him to be proud of me for once. But he didn't see it that way. He looked at it as a way to get me off his hands. When he learned what had happened and how I'd became your apprentice, I thought he'd be angry at how I'd been mistreated and grateful I'd found a place where I was happy and learning something useful. It's what I'd have felt if I'd had a son," Leif said bitterly. "I should have known better. Lord Malastein cares only for his own reputation, not the welfare of his children. He was furious when he learned what I'd done and he said he was sorry my mother ever bore me. He called me a worthless good-for-nothing and wanted to know how I'd pay back our debt as the apprentice of a magician of dubious origins."

"When did you see him?"

"I never saw him face to face until recently. Those other times, I used a scrying bowl. I told him that once I was a fully trained magician I could hire myself out and name my own fee and in that way the debt would be paid. He didn't much like it, but I guess he figured it was the best he was going to get from me. When I told Bella, she was all for telling him to go straight to Hell, but somehow I just couldn't do that. After all, he was still my father. I hoped that once he cooled down he'd see sense and admit that I was right for once. I was stupid, I know! I'd have better luck catching the moon than gaining his approval." He heaved a sharp sigh and looked away from me.

"Son, I can't fault you for trying to win your father's approval, only the methods you used. Why choose the Spear of War, why not some other treasure of Valhalla?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing. That day . . .I'd gone to the hall to sell the cheese and eggs and I was thinking about buying a betrothal ring for Bella. I couldn't wait to get married. But I felt bad about not informing my family about the match, and so I sent a message to my mother. She answered that my father refused to sanction a marriage between a son of his house and a foundling, even if she was the adopted daughter of the Magician of Asgard. That shouldn't have bothered me, I'd known for years his attitude towards Aesir and people with no known ancestors. But it did bother me. A lot. I knew Bella was worth twenty of those highborn Vanir girls he'd been considering, and I wanted him to meet her so he could see for himself just how wrong he was. But I knew he'd never even consider setting foot in a banquet hall without some kind of incentive. While I was mulling all this over in my head, I chanced to look up and see Gungnir hanging there. Now there was a prize tempting enough to make a miser sweat gold. Father had been after the spear for centuries, just like any ambitious Vanir lord with a grudge against the Aesir. If I could get the spear for him, perhaps he'd forgive me, and give his consent to my marriage and then everything would be all right."

"And did it never once occur to you that you would be starting a war by your little gambit?" I snapped, suddenly angry at his naivete.

He hung his head. "I wasn't just going to hand the spear over to him. I was going to make him swear first, by the Norns and his family name, that he wouldn't use the spear for revenge or war, that he'd put it away and never use it. That was why I planned to steal the spear and then hide it in Midgard. Father hadn't gone down to the mortal realm in centuries, he'd never find it there. I figured if I was quick enough, I could spirit Gungnir away and no one would ever connect me to its disappearance. I intended to return in a few days with Bella's ring and a proposal, but it didn't work out that way. My father demanded I hand over Gungnir and then he'd swear the oath, and I refused. He came after me then, swearing he'd take it away by force and I ran and hid down on Midgard. After a week I sent him a message saying that all he had to do was agree to my terms and Gungnir was his. He replied he'd think about it. So I waited. I knew Thor would send someone from Asgard to find Gungnir, but I never thought it would be you, sir, or that Bella would come too."

"Or that I'd be able to find you so quickly," I added. "Why didn't you move the spear right away, Leif?"

"Two reasons. One, I was afraid to tip my hand too soon and the other was because I was having serious doubts about trusting my father. Finally though he agreed to swear the oath and he requested I meet him at night behind the wagon. So I did and at first he was all sweetness and light, swearing he'd use the spear for the good of the Vanir only. I wanted him to promise me more though, so I wouldn't give it to him right away. Swear the oath you promised, Father, I cried. Then and only then will the spear be yours. He laughed in my face then, said I was nothing but an impudent whelp too big for his britches. You forget who owes whom, brat! What's yours is mine, boy, till you come of age. Now give me the spear. I wouldn't. In fact I took it and ran, but I couldn't run forever. Father's actually a pretty good tracker when he cares to be so, and eventually he caught up to me. We fought, but like I said, I wasn't strong enough to stop him, and in the end he took the spear and conjured up that mage storm. I thought it was just an ordinary storm, not—not something that would do so much damage, Loki, I swear it!"

He looked at me then, and in his eyes was the stricken look of a youngster whose magic had gone awry and cost the lives of innocents. "I couldn't stop him, sir!" he sniffled, blinking back tears furiously. "Once he had Gungnir in his hands he changed somehow. He seemed bigger somehow, stronger . . .his aura—it grew to ten times what it was. I never saw anything like it in my life. And then he looked down at me, the spear gripped in his hand, and I was scared to death. I thought for sure he was going to kill me for daring to defy him. But all he did was sneer at me and hit me across the face a few times. I guess he thought I was too worthless to kill. All I know is that he spun the spear in the air a few times and then that hellspawned tornado was born. He sent it off with a flick of his wrist, then he chuckled and said to give his greetings to you, Master Loki, and to give my new bride something to remember on our wedding night—if she would still have me, that is." He muttered this last to the ground.

I swore heatedly and gave him a comforting pat. "He's nothing but a bastard, Leif. You shouldn't pay any attention to what he tells you, son."

"I won't. At least not any more," he promised. "He's played me for a fool for the last time. I'm through wasting my time trying to please him. What'd it ever get me except bruises and a whipping anyhow? I should've known better. To him I'll always be the useless younger son, the misfit that nobody gives a damn about." Angry tears were glinting in Leif's eyes now. "I'm sorry I ever thought he was worth stealing Gungnir for. He's not worth a plugged nickel, as these Westerners say. And to think I betrayed you for him, the only ones who've ever treated me decently. . . ." He choked back a sob. "Bella, I still can't understand how she can forgive me after what I've done . . .if it was me, I'd spit in my face."

"Bella has a kind heart, Leif. She understands the importance of forgiveness and true repentance. As do I. A man named Jesus taught me well."

"The White Christ?"

"The same. He said that there is no sin too great to forgive, if the sinner is honestly and truly repentant of it. Which I can see that you are, son."

"But . . .I betrayed and abandoned your teachings and your daughter. Not to mention stole the Spear of War right from under Thor's nose and probably started a war between your people and mine. How can you not want vengeance for that?"

"Vengeance is the way of an Aesir warlord, Leif. Or a Vanir one, come to think of it. I am neither. What good will it do if I were to use magic to beat you senseless, boy? Will it change the fact that Gungnir is gone? No. Will it make what you did any better? No. All it'll do is quench my anger for a brief instant and make you sorry you ever came back to me. And I promised myself long ago that no apprentice of mine would ever have to suffer my temper for an unwitting mistake. And that is what this was, right, Leif Malasteinsson?" I asked sternly, fixing him with my most judgmental glare.

He nodded miserably, but he did not hesitate to meet my eyes. I could tell his remorse was genuine, and he had not lied to me about the reasons behind his actions. I could spot a practiced liar from twenty feet away.

"Besides, my daughter would never forgive me if I turned her betrothed into a cockroach," I added mischievously.

"Guess not," Leif smiled. "I'll do everything I can to help you get Gungnir back, sir. I never thought he'd go back on his word like that. He used to tell us that a nobleman's word was sacrosanct." Leif spat.

"You never know what a man will do once he gets his hands on a powerful arcane object," I said wisely. "Especially one as old and strong as the Spear of War and Death. Its influence is unpredictable, and it preys on all those feelings of revenge and hate we carry in our souls."

"What are you saying? That my father isn't responsible for that mage storm or his actions?"

"Not at all. A strong-willed man like him should be able to fight off the spear's influence if he wants to. Apparently, he finds it easier to let hatred and contempt dominate his actions. There is no excuse for what he's done—to you or to my poor mortal friends. If you want to truly redeem yourself, son, you can start by telling me where you think your father might have gone."

"I'll do better than that, Loki. I'll take you back to his home. That's where he probably is, showing off his newest prize to the family and telling them how he took it from his too-trusting, too-dumb youngest child. I want to get Gungnir back as much as you do, if only to prove to him that I can and he's not the perfect nobleman he's always claimed."

"Good. We could use your help. Now quit wallowing in guilt and forgive yourself, young man, before I lose my temper and whack you one," I threatened with a mock-growl.

"Yes sir, Master," my apprentice said. "And thank you."

I drew him into my arms and hugged him. "No need to thank me, lad. I was a desperate fool once upon a time too. Now put a smile on your face and go back and kiss your betrothed, Leif Malasteinsson, for you've neglected her shamefully this past month!" I ordered, laughing.

"As you will, sir," Leif agreed, then winked saucily at me and headed back towards the camp where Bella waited.


	25. Return to Asgard

**Return to Asgard**

I wasn't present for my daughter's reunion with her betrothed, but I was sure Leif's heartfelt apology and remorse for his actions did not go unappreciated by her. I did not begrudge them their time together, though I knew the longer we remained here upon Midgard, the harder it would be to track the spear through Malastein's demesne.

Leif's assurances to the contrary, I could not believe the Vanir lord would be so stupid as to take Gungnir back to his stronghold like a severed head, waving it about like a war trophy. It was the first place we'd look and if discovered there could be—make that would be—construed as an act of war. Then again, perhaps that was exactly what Malastein wanted. The Vanir was too cagey not to know the ramifications if he were caught with Gungnir in his possession. It was plausible he'd use any excuse to renew the age old feud between Aesir and Vanir. His kind never forgot or forgave a slight, no matter how many centuries had gone by. Or perhaps his son's spontaneous theft had seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.

I sighed gustily. It really didn't matter what Malastein's reasoning had been. The fact remained that the Black Spear was a potent weapon for destruction and there was little doubt in my mind that Malastein would have any scruples about using it on my people. The devious vicious Vanir had shown quite clearly that he had no mercy or compassion in him, not even for his own offspring. A man like that is deadly and the sooner we got Gungnir away from him the better I'd sleep at night.

Yet I felt bad at having to pack up and leave so soon after Matthew's funeral, even though I'd never intended to stay here for longer than a month at most. Marissa's grief was still raw and fresh, I wanted to stay and comfort her through the worst of it. I had promised Matthew that I'd make her happy and I hated breaking my word to him. Yet neither could I allow Malastein to run amok with Gungnir. There was no telling what kind of havoc he'd wreak on both realms unless he was stopped, and right now I was the best person to do it. I was truly on the horns of an unenviable dilemma.

I rejoined the crowd of mourners, and forced myself to eat something and drink about two glasses of ale to dull the throbbing in my head. The will had been read earlier that afternoon by Marco, and in it he'd made Marissa his sole heir to the circus, as he'd promised me. Aside from a few monetary bequests to the oldest members of the show and a few special items being given to certain friends, Matthew Turner had departed this world without leaving much of a mark financially. Spiritually, however, was another story. I didn't think anyone who had ever known him would ever forget him and to those of us who'd loved him . . .we'd carry him in our hearts and in our memories for all eternity.

I noticed Marissa sitting inbetween Esmerelda and Rowena, looking pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. I dreaded telling her that I must leave, for I felt such an action would make me look like nothing so much as a selfish and shallow insensitive bastard. Yet I knew I had no choice. Malastein had to be stopped at all costs. But oh, how I regretted bitterly abandoning poor Marissa. She deserved so much better than me.

Then again, maybe she'd find someone else while I was gone. I tried to be philosophical about it, but the mere thought of Rissa in another man's embrace made me get hot under the collar. Like a volcano about to erupt. What's all this about, Loki? The practical part of my mind inquired silkily. You, jealous over a mere slip of a mortal woman? There's hundreds more where she came from and more than half would probably give their left arm to sleep with you.

Ah, probably true, but none of those phantom women were Marissa Turner, the romantic in me whimpered. Therefore I would have none of them. Marissa was the one—the only one I could trust—with my secrets and my heart. Maybe even with my life. That was why it was tearing me up to leave her. Despite all the cold concrete reasons my rational mind threw up against a match between mortal and immortal, and how I'd be doing both of us a favor if I called it off now, I just couldn't do it.

Call it fate, call it destiny, call it love, plain and simple. But whatever you've a mind to call it, I knew it had bound the two of us together for all of time and that was all there was to it. Right or wrong, we were meant to be.

Once my mind had finally accepted the inevitable, I could now turn my clever brain to figuring out a way to tell my beloved gently that I must leave her for a time, though I would promise to return as quickly as was immortally possible (which, given my magic, was damned quick). Assuming all went well, that is. But I'd worry about that later.

I've never been one for long sappy goodbyes, so I figured the best way was to just do it and get it over with. Like taking nasty tasting medicine. Just hold your nose and swallow and it'll be over in a snap. Or so I told myself.

But it took me a full half-hour to gather up nerve enough to go over to Marissa's wagon and knock on her door. She'd gone there soon after the funeral feast and I hated like hell to disturb her. She'd loved her father very much, he'd been her only family, and I knew she deserved a decent mourning period. And time to accustom herself to her new role as circus manager and owner as well as performer. I wondered if she'd counted on my support and wished bitterly that I could just say to blazes with Gungnir, the Vanir, and the whole sorry mess and forget about it. After all, I was no damn hero, just an immortal magician, right?

But my conscience—damn the bloody thing!—was poking me uncomfortably, reminding me that I'd sworn an oath to recover the spear and whatever else I might be, I always tried to keep my word. Mostly. Ah, hells, I must be getting old if I was beginning to listen to my conscience this way, I scowled. When I'd been a century-old irresponsible youngling, I'd never have even heard it shouting. Then again, when I was that age, I'd never have looked twice at a woman like Marissa either.

Enough soul-searching, I ordered myself sternly. Just bite the bullet, as they say out here, and get it over with.

So I did. I knocked on her door and she opened it and let me in. She was pale and there was a lifetime's worth of heartbreak already shimmering in her great big eyes, but she invited me in without tears or a quiver in her voice at the impropriety of my visit, unannounced and unchaperoned. She offered me some tea, and I accepted, even though my stomach was in knots.

She poured it in two cups, slid one over to me, and then sat opposite me and stared down at the table. I could tell she was fighting to maintain her composure, and while I wouldn't have cared in the slightest if she started crying (it'd give me an excuse to hold her) I sensed she didn't want to fall apart now and so I didn't say anything.

I stirred sugar and milk into my tea and sipped it slowly, keeping my gaze on my cup, wanting to take her in my arms and hold her and kiss her until she forgot all about being miserable and smiled again. Thor's beard, how I wanted that!

"Does it ever get any better?" she said at last, in a voice so soft it might have been the wind.

"You're missing him, do you mean?"

She nodded and sipped her tea, gulping back the sob that hovered in the back of her throat.

"Eventually, yes. I know this sounds trite, but time really does heal most wounds."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" she said, and there was a wry twist to her mouth.

"Yeah. I've lost more than my share of friends in my life. Mortal or immortal, it still hurts like a bitch at first, no matter if it's the first time or the hundredth time. But I can tell you that after awhile the gaping hole in your heart closes over a little and you can say his name or remember what he told you without crying. Not that it ever goes away, cause it doesn't, but you won't feel it as sharply. It becomes something you can live with, like a scar. Does that help any?"

"A little." She brushed a hand across her eyes. "It's just so hard, losing him like that. I wasn't anywhere near prepared, you know. I though we'd have at least another twenty years or so, y'know?"

"I know." I reached over and clasped her hand. She gripped it hard and did not let go.

"That damn twister . . .it came out of nowhere. If only we'd had some warning . . .he could've found shelter or something . . ." she sniffled and slammed her other hand down on the table, making the cups rattle. "Why'd it have to happen to him, and not somebody else . . .God, that's terrible, to wish another dead, but I can't help it, Loki. I wish like hell my father was still alive and somebody else wasn't. I'm an awful person, aren't I?"

"No. Just human and hurting," I said softly. "Grief is never rational or considerate, sweetheart. It simply is. You're no better or worse than any other woman who's lost a loved one. Trust me on that, darling."

"Honest? I thought you might think I was . . .well . . . a monster or something."

"Never. You forget, I've known real monsters and you're nowhere near one. Not even close." I drew in a breath. "Though you might think me one after I say what I've come to say to you tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous, Loki. I could never think that of you, even if you are an immortal magician."

"You might change your mind soon enough," I predicted dolefully. Then I gathered what shreds of my courage remained and told her that I had to leave and return to Asgard. I told her about the spear being seized by Malastein and Leif and the importance of getting the spear back where it belonged. I was certain she was going to call me a liar and tell me to get my sorry ass out of her home. Either that or throw herself into my arms and wail that she'd never let me go.

Instead she looked me up and down and said, "I see. When we find the bastard, I want the first piece of him. When do we leave?"

I remained with my mouth open like a dunce for several minutes, my mind whirling in crazed confused circles like a dog chasing its tail.

Then I closed it and said in a voice I barely recognized, "You want to come with me?"

"Not want to, Loki. Am." There was the finality of the grave in her tone.

"But you can't! There hasn't been a mortal in Asgard for centuries. I think." I sputtered.

"Is there some rule against my being there?" she inquired sweetly.

"Well, no, not really," I hedged. "No one's ever forbidden it, but it's not something you see everyday, since mortals have to cross the Rainbow Bridge, and most of you only do that once you die."

"But there's no magical barrier or anything preventing you from taking me with you, is there?"

I shook my head. "No, but like I said, it's been at least five centuries since a mortal's gone wandering about the realms of the gods. Lots of creatures and people in my homeland aren't kind to mortals."

"So what? I'm still going with you."

"Why, Marissa?"

"Two reasons. One is that I want to nail the son of a bitch that called up that twister and murdered my father. And the other is that without me you won't have a snowball's chance of hell in finding the damn thing."

"Oh? Why do you say that? I found it just fine before," I bristled. I was always defensive when my magical abilities were called into question.

"That was before, when your little kid of an apprentice hid it. But you said yourself that this Malastein's no novice. He'll make damn sure the spear's hidden even from your magical sight, Loki. At least long enough for him to use it to slam your people good, or to use it as leverage to make a deal. Have you been able to sense the spear since the bastard took it?"

"No," I admitted with gritted teeth. "But that doesn't mean—"

"I can track it without a problem," she interrupted. "You forget what I am. I can find anything, even when it's a world away hidden with magic. Trust me on that, sweetheart."

"You can feel Gungnir even from here?"

"Yeah. It's a bit faint, like the buzzing of a bee, but I know it'll grow stronger once we're on Asgard. There's nowhere he can hide it that I won't be able to find it, even if he threw it into the ocean. My Talent's always been reliable like that."

I opened my mouth to argue some more, then I slowly shut it again. For I knew that despite any argument I could make against it, Marissa was bound and determined to come with me. She knew her Talent would be the deciding factor in this chase and that I needed that advantage desperately. Besides, I hadn't wanted to be separated from her anyhow.

Funny, how the Norns answer your prayers sometimes, isn't it?

"All right. Guess you'd better start packing."

She gave me a sad smile. "Good. At least one man on the earth shows sense."

There were several things I could have said to that, but I wisely kept them to myself, for once. This was not the time to behave like a smartass.

So instead I said thank you. And was rewarded with a kiss. It was a bittersweet victory, to say the least.

Two days later we bid goodbye to the rest of the troupe. Marissa left Marco and Esmerelda in charge, promising she'd return as quickly as she was able. "In the meantime though, I know you'll manage the show better than anyone save my father, Marco." The young bareback rider declared. "He should have given you management, not me. You far wiser and smarter than I am."

"Nonsense, girl!" Marco snorted. "Your father knew what he was doing. The show is your heritage, you're his blood kin. The others respect and like you more than they ever will me. To them I'm still Gypsy trash. Smart Gypsy trash, but an outsider nonetheless. You, on the other hand . . ." He spread his hands wide.

Marissa scowled. "Don't say that about yourself, Marco! It's not true. Turner's Travelling Circus would have gone belly up in the sun if not for your family and their acrobatics. Everyone here knows it. You're one of the best acts we've got and the crowds love you."

"True, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm Rom, child." Marco pointed out kindly but firmly. "I am and probably always will remain an outsider to most of your people. It doesn't matter. We Romani learned long ago to ignore the gadje, for they are merely ignorant children, afraid of those they don't understand."

"Not all of us feel that way, Uncle Marco," Marissa said staunchly.

The Romani acrobat chuckled. "No, but you're outnumbered, child. Matthew understood this, it's why he made his will the way he did. Don't fret, Rissa, darling. If it's only experience you're lacking, well, that's soon remedied. In a year or so, you'll know as much as I do about running this show, if you're anything like your father, God bless him."

Marissa looked doubtful, but did not bother to argue further.

Esmerelda was eyeing the golden-haired rider with some trepidation. "Is it truly necessary for you to go and hunt down this criminal, Marissa? Would it not be better if you told the local law and let them handle it? They're trained in this kind of thing."

We had decided to tell the others only a partial truth, as we could never reveal the true nature of our quest to them. Besides, what we said was partially true, in a sense. Malastein was regarded as a criminal according to Aesir law, and as a member of the Aesir Council, I was sworn to bring him to justice.

"No. They had him in their grasp once and he escaped. Now it's my turn. My father's killer will be brought to justice, I swear it by all that's holy." Marissa said softly, her jaw set and her eyes glittering like those of a bird of prey.

Esmerelda gazed at her worriedly, and I saw Marissa soften. "Don't worry, Esmerelda. Loki will keep me safe."

"He'd better!" was all the Romani woman said, but her glare sent shivers down my spine. She pointed a finger at me and said, "I charge you with her safety, Loki Sigurdson. Any harm that befalls her will rebound upon you threefold. So best see to it that you keep your word, magic man."

"Relax, Esmerelda. Your darling girl will be safe with me, never doubt it." I soothed, giving her my best charming smile. "I know how to shoot to kill."

"When will you be back?" Hawk asked.

"When we've caught our man, kid," Marissa said, and ruffled the boy's hair. "Meantime you keep practicing and maybe you'll be a good bareback rider someday."

Hawk beamed. "Oh, I will, Miss Turner. Just you wait and see."

Both of us smiled at the scamp, then we bid the Flynns' goodbye, as well as the rest of the troupe, who were a bit shocked at Marissa's sudden decision to go haring off with a man she barely knew after a criminal. But none of them protested much, I guess they had learned that Marissa was a stubborn as her father, and she would do as she pleased.

At last we were ready, and we mounted our horses, tied Fleetfoot to the lead rein on Heror's saddle, and galloped off into the rising sun. We rode for several hours, until I judge we were far enough away from the encampment that we'd not cause a stir when I used my magic.

I halted Heror, who danced in place with eagerness. Leif and Bella exchanged glances as I lifted my arms up over my head then brought them down in a sharp sweeping movement. "I summon now Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge," I chanted in Old Norse.

There was a brilliant flash of light, then a doorway opened and we could see the white arch of Bifrost, running with rivulets of rainbowed light. "Come along now," I beckoned to my companions. "I can't hold the door open forever, you know."

Bella heeled Flicker on through the gate and Leif followed on his own mount, a piebald gelding named Scruffy. Marissa stared in open mouthed amazement, then gently urged a snorting Rocket through the gate. Once the silver gelding was through, Heror sprang after, dragging a wild-eyed Fleetfoot after us.

"Come on, little Plains pony," Heror called back to the frightened paint. "There's nothing to be scared of, it's just a little light and magic. It won't hurt."

"Are we going to heaven then? Will I die?" Fleetfoot shivered.

"Of course not, you idiot!" Heror squealed. "Now move it!" He spun around and bared his teeth at the recalcitrant Indian pony.

Fleetfoot gave another shudder, then closed his eyes and hopped through the gate.

I quickly shut the gate, then led the way across Bifrost and onto the green fields of Asgard.

I took a deep breath of the clean crisp air scented with meadowsweet and goldenrod. It felt good to be home. Too bad we couldn't stay there. I cast a glance around, looking for Heimdall.

But the Gatekeeper was nowhere in sight. Some guardian he was, I sneered to myself. Then again, maybe it was lucky the big galoot wasn't here, as he'd only cause problems when he realized Marissa was a mortal.

Marissa was looking about her with the sort of wonder you only see on children and animals. "Oh, Loki! It's even more beautiful than you said. But where's that one-eyed warrior that's supposed to guard this bridge?"

"Probably at home snoozing or picking his nose hairs." I answered flippantly. "And you're mixing up your gods again, Rissa. Odin's the one with one eye, Heimdall's the one with eyes like a hawk's. Or so he claims. Me, I think he's mostly all noise and no substance. Still, I'd rather not have to get into an argument right now, so let's get moving."

I sent Heror into a steady canter, making sure the mortal steeds could keep up, and we raced over the emerald hills to my humble abode. I glanced back at Marissa as we rode. "Can you still feel the spear?"

"Yeah. It's stronger now than it was before." She waved a hand out towards the north and west. "I can feel it calling from over that way."

I bit my lip and exchanged worried glances with Bella and Leif.

"But Loki, that's not where Vanaheim is," my apprentice pointed out.

"I know. Looks like your father decided not to risk his homeland after all," I stated.

"Why? What's over there?" Marissa asked, raising one gold brow in puzzlement.

"That, my pretty dove, is one of the most inhospitable countries in this realm. A land full of rocks, heat, dust, and lava pools called Muspelheim. Home of the fire giants, avowed enemies of the Aesir and the Vanir."

"One of the worst pestholes in the universe," Bella added.

"Are you sure that Gungnir's there?" Leif asked unhappily.

Marissa nodded. "Afraid so, boy. Looks like we're gonna ride into hell to reclaim the blasted thing. I just hope it's worth it."

"It is," I said. "And we'd better get it back before Surtur decides he's gonna use it to make war on the entire realm and then start in on Midgard. He's a crazy power-hungry old bastard, and he'd like nothing better than to plunge the entire cosmos into a war that never ends."

"Could he really do such a thing, Father?"

"If he controls Gungnir he could." I said glumly. "What in hell was Malastein thinking, bringing it there?"

"Maybe he was hoping for an alliance?" Leif suggested diffidently.

"With Surtur?" I laughed mockingly. "Surtur doesn't know the meaning of the word. All he cares about is killing, money, and power. The more the better. Your father is either the world's biggest idiot or he knows something we don't about the fire giant king. Either way, it doesn't look good for us." I flicked the reins lightly at Heror's withers. "Come on. We'll pick up some provisions at my place, then it's off to merry Muspelheim and the smoking hot hospitality of Surtur the Scoundrel."

* * * * * *

I threw open the gate and cantered up the drive, pausing in the yard to gaze appreciatively at my home. The sprawling stone and timber cottage with its climbing ivy and roses and purple wisteria hedges bordering the walkway had never looked so inviting. Funny, how you never appreciate your home until you've spent time on the road away from it. After over a month of sleeping on the narrow cot of a vardo, I was quite ready to tumble right into my plush featherbed and sleep for at least a week. Best of all, I had no fear that my house would have that musty, unused, closed in smell that houses pick up when you've been away for so long. Not with Ava looking after my humble abode. The Nis would make certain the place was spanking clean every day, whether or not I was at home. Nisses regard it as their solemn duty to keep a house clean no matter the time of day or night, something I was profoundly grateful for now that I was bringing Marissa here. No worries that she'd find my dirty socks under the sofa or my underwear in a corner somewhere along with the dirty dishes I'd forgotten about, like a typical bachelor.

I dismounted beside the stable, leading Heror into the cool recesses of the barn. My stallion pricked up his ears and gave a welcoming whinny to Olga who was sleeping in the straw next to her manger. "Hey, Olga! We're back. And we brought some visitors."

The goat was on her feet in a flash, bawling a delighted welcome. "Odin's beard, I thought you were gonna be gone the whole damn summer. What took you so long, magician?"

I grinned and bent to scratch her between her horns. She butted me affectionately in the ribs. "Hello, old girl. Missed me, didn't you?"

Olga snorted. "Not really. Ava took good care of me. She always gave me extra carrots and sugar."

"Yeah, I can tell. You're starting to put on weight, nanny."

She narrowed her eyes at me and stomped a hoof. "Very funny, Loki. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes and no," I sighed.

"What he means is he didn't find what he set out to get, but he found something he'd never thought to look for." Heror informed his stablemate gleefully. "Namely, a sweet young woman called Marissa Turner."

Olga chuckled loudly. "Oh ho! Looks like the avowed bachelor is no more. It's about time you tied the knot with a girl, magician. It's not healthy for a man to be alone so much."

I scowled and elbowed her hard in the ribs. "Hush up, damn it! She'll hear you."

"So?"

"There isn't going to be a wedding yet. I haven't even proposed to her."

"Hellfires, what are you waiting for? You aren't getting any younger, you know. Men! You're never on time for anything. I'll bet you'd be late for your own funeral."

"Listen, goat," I growled, leaning over and grasping her head with both hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. "You breathe a word about marriage or anything like it to Marissa or anyone else around here and I'll call for Thor's axe and make myself a tasty dish of goat stew. Got me?"

Now Olga might be ornery, but she was far from stupid. She could tell I meant what I said. (Well, mostly. I've never been all that fond of goat meat, to tell the truth.)

"Yes, Master Loki," she brayed softly and lowered her head. "Mum's the word." Then she shook her head and asked, "Does she know I can talk, or do I have to play the deaf and dumb animal again?"

"No. Marissa knows who and what I am and she knows you're no ordinary animals."

"Oh, good. I can't wait to meet her. I wonder if she knows what she's getting herself into?" the goat said slyly. "Maybe I ought to warn her."

I glared at her warningly, then began to strip off Heror's tack and rub him down.

A few minutes later I was joined by the others, and we all tended to our weary mounts, giving them a good grooming and a hot bran mash as a reward for carrying us uncomplainingly through two worlds.

Once the horses were seen to, I led the way into the cottage, where I was greeted by an overjoyed Ava.

"Master, you have returned!" the Nis cried, wrapping her little arms about my waist and hugging me hard. I was overwhelmed by the aroma of baking bread, a scent Nisses emit when they're extremely happy or worried. "You should have told me you were coming, then I'd have prepared a nice dinner for you all."

"Thanks, Ava, but that won't be necessary. Whatever we have on hand is fine. We have to leave in a few days."

Ava's face fell. "You're not staying?"

"Afraid not. Our quest isn't finished." I said regretfully. Norns only knew how much I wanted to remain here, where it was peaceful and safe. Risking life and limb and saving the world has never been one of my favorite things to do. "But I could use a nice hot cup of tea and some supper, if you wouldn't mind, Ava darling."

"Of course, Master Loki. Is Miss Bella with you?"

"She is. And so is Master Leif and a special human lady named Marissa Turner," I announced just as the others entered the cottage.

Ava nearly went white. "By the Great Acorn! You has invited a lady here and you don't tell me? And me with nothing to feed her but some old soup and bread!" She waved a scolding finger in my face. "Master Loki, you ought to be ashamed! How could you do this to me?"

Before I could tell her not to go off half-cocked, she'd vanished into the kitchen. I could hear pots and pans rattling and the Nis muttering several uncomplimentary things about employers who didn't have the decency to give a cook some warning when they were bringing home Important People for dinner.

Marissa and Bella gazed at me in puzzlement and I shrugged and explained, "Ava's mad at me for not telling her I was bringing home guests. She's in the kitchen right now whipping up some culinary masterpiece of Nis renown."

"But that's not necessary," Marissa protested. "Honest, Loki, I'll eat anything, I'm not picky. There's no need for her to put herself out."

"Ava's a Nis, Marissa," Bella grinned. "They live to put themselves out for their masters."

"Bella's right. Nisses aren't happy unless they're working." Leif added.

"Master? Do you mean to tell me you own her?" Marissa asked, frowning in disapproval.

"No, not in the sense you mean. Ava's not a slave, she's free to come and go as she pleases," I hastened to reassure her. "But a Nis is never happy unless he or she is employed in a house. You pay them with shelter and food and in return they keep your house tidy and cook for you. Ava calls me "master" as a sign of respect, not because I demand it. If anything, she bosses me around sometimes."

Bella and Marissa seemed quite pleased when I said that, don't ask me why. Women! No man will ever understand them, I fear. I guess that's part of their charm though.


	26. Sweet Interlude

**Sweet Interlude**

"Well, I'm for a bath and a change of clothes before dinner," I said, wrinkling my nose at my shirt, which smelled strongly of sweat and horse. "Bella can show you where you can wash up and put your things," I told Marissa, who was looking about my cottage with interest.

"You mean you actually have indoor plumbing? Like a fancy hotel? Then we don't have to go outside?" she exclaimed, her eyes shining like an eager child's.

"Well, if you really want to swim naked in my pond, I won't stop you, sweetheart," I said, smirking lasciviously. The images that statement conjured . . . let's just say they made my heart race . . .like a runaway train.

Bella gave me a disgusted glance and muttered something in Norse about men that have only two things on their minds, which I ignored. Marissa went pink and said that it was too cold for that now, and Leif looked at me and then Marissa and raised an eyebrow knowingly.

"You wouldn't want to swim in the pond anyway, Marissa," Bella said. "It's all slimy and mucky on the bottom. A nixie named Dire used to live there, before Father killed her for trying to drown me, so I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh. What's a nixie?"

"A water sprite. Some are good, some aren't. Dire was as nasty as they come," Bella informed her. "She had a taste for human flesh, among other things."

"But she's been dead for years now," I hastened to reassure my beloved, who was looking a bit sick. "There's nothing dangerous in that pond any more, unless you count seaweed. Nothing on my land will harm you, Marissa."

"That's true. Not even a gnat can creep onto Master Loki's property and not get noticed by him," Leif chimed in. "And anything else, like a giant, will get fried by the wards before they can set their big toe down across the boundary stones."

"Giants? There are giants living here?"

"No, not in Asgard. But they live nearby, in Jotunheim and Muspelheim," I clarified. "I'll explain later. For now, go with Bella and sample the delights of my Roman baths. There's nothing like them in all of Asgard."

"You're kidding, right? How on earth could you have Roman baths here?" Marissa gestured to the interior of my house. "This doesn't look big enough for anything more than a necessary and a tin tub."

"Looks can be deceiving, especially in a magician's house," I answered. "The inside of my home is bigger than it would appear on the outside. A little space warp spell is all it takes and voila—I've got baths to rival Caesar's own." I gestured to an innocent looking wooden door just to the right of the kitchen.

"Do all of you Norse gods have these amenities?"

I laughed. "Not on your life! Only Baldur, because I like him and introduced them to him. The others are still uneducated rude beasts who only bathe once a month. Or at least it seems that way. Didn't I ever tell you that I spent a good couple of years living in the Roman Empire once upon a time? I noted very carefully all the nice civilized inventions they had there and made sure to copy plans and such so I could bring them back here and enjoy them. I have indoor latrines and heating and everything. I've got the best of both worlds here, Rissa, if I do say so myself."

"He's right. Even Ran, the sea goddess, is envious of my father's baths. Her people bath in underwater hot springs." She beckoned to the other woman. "Come on, Rissa. We have some wonderful lotus and lavender soap and a milk and honey extract that works miracles on hair too. Father always claimed he got those from Cleopatra's handmaid, if you can believe that . . ."

I left my daughter and my beloved alone to clean up, retiring to my room to gather up some clean clothes and then I sat down to wait. When Bella was small, I hadn't built my bath house yet, and had to resort to giving her a bath beside the fire. Later, once I'd discovered her love of water, I'd implemented the plans I'd acquired from some Roman engineers and added the baths. It was a lot of work, magically speaking, that is, but the end result was worth all the hours I'd put into it. I'd had help, of course, from the dwarves, who were some of the best miners and engineers in the business and also some pretty water nymphs, who helped with the tile and the filling of each of the pools.

I'd called in quite a few favors that week, but I've never regretted it. Nor did anyone who worked on the project with me. Rarely does a person in debt to a magician get to work off what he or she owes building a mere bath house. Most magicians prefer to keep those who owe them around as slaves for years or worse if they happen to be practitioners of the dark arts. Me, I prefer a direct exchange of money, labor, or talent or knowledge and that's the end of it. Doing anything else only breeds resentment in one party or another.

Soon enough, the women emerged from the facilities, looking—and smelling—like goddesses. Leif and I groaned appreciatively, exchanging looks of mutual longing, then went to wash off the trail dust ourselves.

I was reluctant to leave my soothing watery cocoon, but I knew Ava would become extremely annoyed if I didn't show up on time for dinner. So I quit soaking and cooled off in the frigidarium before dressing in my favorite emerald green and gold tunic and trousers, complete with the ermine-furred half-cape and spit-shined dragonscale boots.

Those boots would be worn during the expedition to Muspelheim, since they were the only footwear I owned that would stand up to the lava fields of that cursed realm. No, I did not slay a dragon to make them, in case you were wondering. I traded a seeing crystal and a magic wand for enough shed scales from Fafnir's brother Fraynir to make myself a pair of knee-high boots. Fraynir was delighted with the exchange, since the shed scales were cluttering up his den.

Practical concerns aside, the real reason I'd chosen to wear the dragonscale tonight was because I knew they looked great with my outfit and I wanted to impress my sweet bareback rider with how lordly I looked. Lately all she'd seen me in was my stage magician outfit and denims and chambray. Not exactly the height of fashion.

I made a mental note to find the specially protected scarves and headcloths I'd stored away in a trunk in the attic. We need them if we were going to go traipsing about Muspelheim and not suffer from breathing the ash-laden air of that cursed place. That and the desert silks I'd purchased from an Arab merchant some centuries ago. I grimaced, for I'd rather be walking down a dragon's gullet than crossing the Black Land again. I cursed Malastein to the eternal frozen depths of Nifheim for making an alliance with Surtur the Sly, then resolved to put both of them out of my head for tonight.

Time enough to worry about enemies tomorrow. Right now all I wanted was to relax and enjoy the last home cooked meal I was going to get in awhile. I was just getting ready to descend the stairs when Ava appeared in front of me.

"Master, we is waiting dinner on you, so hurry up before it all goes cold."

"Yes, Ava," I said in my best meek and starving manner.

"Oh, and Baldur is here too, so you have another guest for dinner," she informed me cheekily, then vanished.

Baldur? What in blazes was he doing here? I wondered. Not that I minded, for he was always welcome at my home, but he usually didn't drop in unannounced like this. I took the stairs two at a time and entered the dining hall to find Baldur seated on the left of my place, next to Bella. Marissa was on my right and Leif was next to Bella. There was an enormous rack of lamb basted with honey and mint sauce and huge dishes of peas, roasted potatoes, stewed cherries and freshly baked bread dripping with butter and honey. At each place were a glass of wine and a glass of water, though I noted Baldur had tapped into the cask of emergency honey mead instead.

"Hello, Loki. Hope you don't mind one more for dinner," my friend greeted me, lifting his mug to me.

"Long time no see, Baldur," I smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, receiving a bone-crushing hug in return. "You never need an invitation for dinner, you ought to know that by now. Ava always cooks enough for ten giants and Thor, Norns help us." I took my place at the head of the table and gestured for everyone to begin eating. The smell of the lamb was nearly making me drool on the tablecloth.

Everyone ate hungrily, and for several minutes there was only the clank of knife and fork and the quiet murmurings of appreciation at how sublime the food tasted. No one cooks as good as my Ava, and I ate until I could hold no more. So did everyone else. But when we were all stuffed, the amount of food left could have fed several orphanages down on Midgard.

"You, uh, want to take some home for Nanna and the kids?" I asked Baldur.

"Sure. But I'll be back by tomorrow morning, so don't think you can sneak away without me," the big warrior stated cheerfully.

I gave him a blank look. "What? Run that by me again."

"I said, I'll be back tomorrow, ready to go with you," Baldur repeated quietly.

"You know we're going to Muspelheim?" I gaped at him.

"To recover Gungnir, yeah, Bella told me. I thought you might need an extra hand with a sword, seeing as you've got plenty of brains along but no brawn. Magic doesn't count for everything in a fight."

"That's real nice of you Baldur, but it isn't necessary," I began, for while I wouldn't having an immortal warrior along, I also didn't want to be responsible should anything happen to him. Nanna would never forgive me. "We've got it all under control."

"Not from where I'm standing," Baldur said bluntly. "What if some pack of fire giants tries to kick your butt out of their homeland? How many can you all magic before one hits you upside the head with a club? You're gonna need a warrior who knows how to make a giant sit up and beg."

"This isn't your fight, old friend," I began.

"Like hell it isn't. Gungnir was an Asgardian artifact and last time I checked I was still a member of the Aesir. That makes it my fight. My brother's been out calling up an army, just in case the Vanir and the giants decide to invade Asgard. I could be with him, but he's got enough veterans on hand. Besides, I'd only get into fights with him over the way he runs the army, and that's the last thing we need now. But you need someone experienced to watch your back in Muspelheim, Loki. I've been there, I've fought Surtur's clan before, something none of your little band of magicians has done. When Bella told me where you were headed, I thought you'd lost your mind, dragging a bunch of green apprentices and a mortal woman into the Black Land. What were you thinking, that this was some kind of Sunday school picnic?"

I glared at him. "I knew what I was doing, Baldur the Brave!" I snapped. "I wasn't planning on having lunch with King Surtur, just finding the damned spear and getting the hell out of there as soon as possible. Something which I'm damn good at."

"Alone, maybe. But the kids and this human lady here have never learned how to walk unseen the way you have, O Master of Shadows. You telling me you can maintain a glamour on them and yourself long enough to locate Gungnir and get out without somebody noticing?" Baldur said skeptically. "I know you're good, Loki, but even you have limits. And what if this is a trap and you have to fight? You can't fight a Vanir lord skilled in magic and protect the rest of them at the same time. That'll only end in sorrow. That's why you need me with you and it's why I volunteered. End of story."

I ground my teeth together, for I knew he was right. Muspelheim was no realm for novice adventurers, a fact which had kept me awake for half the night last night. But I had no choice but to take them. I needed Marissa, the most vulnerable of us, to track Gungnir. I needed Bella for her Talent with wind and water, which would prove invaluable in the Black Land. And where Bella went, so did Leif, who was a mage of no small talent himself. I knew Muspelheim was a nightmare to travel in, especially for neophytes who'd never experienced it before. But Gungnir was there and so it was there we had to go.

"Baldur, Nanna would have my guts for bootlaces if anything happened to you," I played my trump card.

"She'd have mine if I didn't go along with you and you got yourself and Bella killed trying to be a bloody hero," Baldur returned, glaring back at me.

"I'm not trying to be a hero, damn it!"

"No? What d'you call it then, going into Surtur's realm with a handful of mortals and kids? A fool's hope is what I call it."

"Who asked you?"

"Actually, I did," Bella chimed in. "I told Uncle Baldur where we were going and asked what he thought of it, and we both agreed we could use a warrior along to kick some ugly giant's ass."

"Traitor," I muttered and gave her frown.

"Kid's got sense, Loki. More than her old man does at times. Now quit grumbling and just get used to the fact that I'm coming. You'll thank me later."

"Sure I will, Pa," I growled balefully. "Just don't come crying to me if a fire giant stomps you, Baldur."

"Now why would I do that, when I've got a trained sea-healer along?" my friend asked innocently. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Just a stubborn ass."

"Takes one to know one."

I sighed. "Okay. You win. Happy now?"

"Thrilled as a beagle on a rabbit." Baldur laughed. "So what's for dessert?"

Later that evening, I left Baldur playing dice with Leif and Bella while Marissa and I went for a little moonlit stroll. Overhead the stars gleamed like diamonds and the feel of her hand in mine warmed me to the depths of my soul. We meandered down the path I'd made beneath the apple and cherry trees, which had just burst into blossom, filling the air with their sweet perfume.

Marissa was wearing a spring tunic and matching breeches of a robin's egg blue shade. She admitted shyly when I complimented her on them that she'd borrowed them from Bella. "They look better on you than they ever did on her."

"Flatterer," she laughed, though I could see my words pleased her immensely. As they were meant to.

"It's so peaceful here. So beautiful," she murmured, inhaling the apple blossom scented air like nectar. "How could you bear to leave it?"

"Most times I don't. I haven't done any major traveling since Bella was a baby. I'm quite content here among my apple trees and my books. This quest for Gungnir was something that should never have happened. Although I can't complain too much, because it led me to you, Marissa my love."

"Funny, isn't it, how things work out."

I turned her hand palm up and kissed it gently. "Mmm. The Norns work in mysterious ways. I'm still amazed you allowed me to court you."

She tilted her head to one side, an gesture I found utterly endearing. "And I'm amazed you chose me when you could have had your pick of gorgeous immortal women like Sigyn."

"Sigyn? How do you know what she looks like?"

"Bella and I got to talking while we were doing each other's hair and stuff. I asked her about Aesir women, what they did, how they dressed, and what they looked like. She said she could show better than she tell me, and she made the water into a mirror, like a window, I guess . . ."

"It's called a scrying pool," I interrupted softly.

"Yes. Anyway, she did that to the water and I could see part of Frigga's court, including her ladies. Sigyn was there. Loki, compared to her I'm like the ugly duckling. She's perfect—tall, willowy, she's got curves in all the right places, hair like silk and eyes like sapphires. Bella even admitted she's nice too, not stuck-up like half of Frigga's handmaids. And she's one of your kind—an immortal. So why by all that's holy would you want me?" She dropped her gaze down to her feet.

I lifted her chin with a finger. "Marissa, look at me. There, that's better." I smiled at her. "Yes, you're right when you say Sigyn's beautiful. She's an immortal, it's bred in us. The most plain among us would be extremely handsome to any mortal. That's part of our magic. But don't you see, Marissa? That's all it is—surface beauty. Haven't you ever heard the phrase beauty is only skin deep?"

"Yes. Pa used to say that sometimes, when I was a little girl and said I hated the way I looked."

"Well, whoever said that knew that true beauty isn't worn on a person's face, it's what's in here that counts." I tapped my chest for emphasis. "I've known some stunningly beautiful women in my life and none of them can hold a candle to you, Marissa Turner. You're funny and kind, generous and loving, daring and one of the bravest women I've ever known. You're the only woman I've ever told my true story to in over seven centuries, the only one I'd ever trust with my heart. So you're not fantastically beautiful. I love you precisely because you're not."

"Most men wouldn't."

"Yeah, well, I'm not most men. I'm a magician, and I learned long ago to look beneath the surface of a thing and see it for what it is, not for what it appeared. And Sigyn, for all her looks and her kind heart, is not the one I love. Only you have that honor. Or is it a burden? Considering all the hell you've been through since you met me."

She put a finger to my lips. "Never say that, Loki. Your love is a gift, a gift I never thought I'd ever receive, or even deserved. I will treasure it, and you, for all of my life." Then she drew my head down and kissed me.

I kissed her back hungrily, her words were a balm to my wounded spirit, torn and bleeding from years of neglect and mistrust. "Gods, I need you so much, Marissa," I gasped, my mouth trailing kisses down her delicate neck. "Promise you'll never leave me."

"I promise. If you'll do the same," her breath misted my ear, making me shiver.

"I swear by all that I am, by the magic that is my life, I will be with you until you die."

"Good. Now kiss me again."

I obeyed, as eager as she was to explore this new territory. But I was careful not to go too far, despite my body's clamoring that it hadn't had a woman in a century or so. Now was not the time to indulge in wanton passion, for we had a mission to complete and the last thing I needed was to get her pregnant. Immortal and mortal pairings proved to be very fruitful, ironic as that sounded. Maybe something in a mortal's blood acted as a catalyst for an immortal's seed. Whatever the reason, I knew it was ridiculously easy for one of my kind to get a mortal woman with child, and while I would dearly love to have a dozen little Marissa running about, bringing a pregnant woman into Muspelheim would be like committing a double homicide.

So I had to be contented with a few more kisses and a snuggle beneath the apple tree. But I treasured even those little moments, and I knew Marissa did too. She ran a finger down my dragonscale boot teasingly.

"I like those boots. They make you look dashing. Like a pirate or a highwayman in one of those silly dime novels Maura liked to read."

"They're dragonscale, and I wore them because they won't tear or burn when we cross Muspelheim. Though you're right about women finding them irresistible."

She made a face at that. "I think they find the man more irresistible than the boots. Though they better keep their distance from now on. I don't share."

"Neither do I." I chuckled and pulled her tighter against me. "I'll have to treat everyone's footwear with my special oils tonight, so I can be sure they'll last the entire journey. Muspelheim's not called the Black Land for nothing. It's barren and blasted, full of cooled lava fields where nothing grows, and the only water that runs through it is tainted and undrinkable. Or a river of molten lava. That's why we can't take the horses."

"You mean we have to walk to wherever Gungnir is?" she cried in dismay.

"Afraid so, Miss Turner. It can't be helped. Horses, even mules, would die after a few days in Muspelheim. The air is poison to breathe and the only things that live there are the fire giants, salamanders, lava dragons and skorvalds—those are giant vultures that eat carrion and scraps the fire giants throw out."

"If the horses can't survive there, then how will we?"

"Simple. We'll have special scarves to breathe through that will filter out much of the ash and dust, carry plenty of water, and travel light as we can. That's one reason why I'm letting Bella come, because she can summon up rainstorms if we start to run low on water. She's a very strong water mage, and her Talent will be priceless when we cross the Barren Plains. Otherwise I'd never let her set foot across the border. In fact, if I didn't need all of you so much, I'd go hunting Gungnir myself and leave you all here, where it's safe. Unfortunately, that's not a path I can walk, so I'll do my damndest to keep all of you alive as best as I can. Which is why Baldur's allowed to come along on this little journey."

"Allowed? I'd have liked to see you stop him," Marissa snickered.

"Don't you think I could have?" I demanded, insulted. "He might be bigger, but I've taken down warriors twice his size with my magic before. There would've been a Baldur-shaped coat rack in my front entry if I'd wanted to get serious about it. They don't call me the Magician of Asgard for nothing you know."

"All right, Merlin. No need to get your feathers ruffled," she soothed. "Men! You're all so touchy when it comes to your pride. Though you're less so than some I've known on the circuit. Good thing too, because Baldur seems like a handy guy to have around in a fight."

"He is. He's one of the best swordsmen in Asgard. The fire giants practically wet themselves when they see him coming. He's killed more than his share of them during the last war we had with them."

"You two have been friends a long time, right? The way Marco and my father were."

I nodded. "Yeah. I've known him his whole life. He's about two centuries younger than I am, in case you were wondering. He's Odin and Frigga's youngest son, the best of them, in my opinion. Most everybody around here likes him, he's a good guy. He's one of the few immortals at court who's actually faithful to his marriage vows. His wife's name is Nanna and he's got two kids, Vali and Hilda. Once this business with the spear is over, I'll have to take you over to his place and introduce you."

"I'd like that a lot." Marissa yawned. "Goodness, I feel like a herd of bison just trampled me. Guess it's time for bed."

"Guess so," I said mournfully. _Too bad I can't join you there,_ I thought wistfully. I rose to my feet, drawing her up after me. We walked slowly back to the house. I gave her another kiss before we went inside, gazing longingly after her long after she'd disappeared up into the loft.

Ava's subtle humming at my elbow nearly made me jump out of my skin.

"Fenrir's bones, Ava! Next time give a body some warning."

The Nis merely eyed me knowingly and giggled. "Ah, Master Loki, I knows the minute I saw her that she was the one for you. Looks like there's gonna be two weddings here, sure as the sun rises."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch," I reminded her. "She's not wearing my ring on her finger yet, little Nis."

"Only cause you hasn't got one," the little fae answered with that maddeningly sweet grin on her face. "But don't worry, Master, I hear the giants got lots of treasure up there and I'm sure they won't miss one pretty ring if you was to steal one."

I rolled my eyes. "Ava, I'm going there to get back an artifact that was stolen from us, not steal myself a betrothal ring." Although I had to admit that wasn't such a bad idea, and if I did happen to come across one that caught my fancy . . . "I'll worry about rings later. Right now I need some of that fire-proofing oil that's on the third shelf in my laboratory and Baldur, Leif, Marissa, and Bella's boots."

The Nis bowed and vanished to fetch the articles I'd requested and I settled down at the table to work the special oil into the leather, for it would need the night to soak into the material. I would also cast spells of toughness on them as well, for the rocks in the Black Land were sharper than obsidian and could cut through ordinary leather like a hot knife through butter.

Thus I spent the better part of the night polishing and strengthening boots instead of making love, and I wished Malastein's balls would freeze off, since it was his fault I was doing this.


	27. The Fires of Muspelheim

**The Fires of Muspelheim**

Traveling through Muspelheim was as unpleasant as I'd recalled it last time I was there. Even swathed in silks with cooling spells set on them, the heat was oppressive. Al of us were dressed in flowing silken pantaloons gathered at the ankle and long silk tunics with billowing sleeves and hooded burnooses. Our ensemble was complete with our scarves knotted closely about our noses and mouth and our boots, which reached up to our knees to prevent a viper from striking our ankles, because the Black Land was home to a particularly virulent species of snake called a sparkle viper. The sparkle viper dwelled in the crevices of the lava rocks and its bite would kill you within seconds unless you had a mage healer on hand to slow the poison. Not even immortal blood was proof against it, though it took longer to kill us than a mortal.

And that was one of the lesser dangers of the land of the fire giants. Besides the poisonous vapors in the air and the molten lava pits and the razor sharp rocks, that is. Because Muspelheim is home to several active volcanoes, the surface of the land is always shifting and changing, depending on how long it's been since the last volcano erupted. When the lava cools, it can be either a smooth sheet or long and ropy, depending on how fast it was flowing. Areas where the lava was smooth made it hard to walk without slipping and the long curled up piles were treacherous to navigate, since you had to climb over and around them and you risked turning an ankle or worse.

In the distance, against the perpetually gray sky, where the sun almost never broke through the clouds, you could see the gigantic silhouettes of the volcanoes, smoking and smoldering, a grim warning of what could be in this desolate land. A few skeletal remains of trees dotted the landscape here and there, but otherwise there was nothing save black rock as far as the eye could see, broken occasionally by a trickle of red lava or the yellow of a poisoned stream. It was a miracle anything, even the fire giants, lived here, much less called this place home.

No wonder the fire giants were such miserable crazy bastards. Looking at this day after day would drive me to suicide. It was worse than the desert, because at least the desert can be beautiful and it lives and breathes. It's harsh, yes, but it has its moments.

Muspelheim, on the other hand, could volunteer as a stand-in for the Christian version of Hell.

We walked in single file as much as we could, with me taking point beside Marissa, whose Seeking led her unerringly onward, like a lodestone. Baldur was bringing up the rear, hand on his sword, eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of movement. Leif and Bella huddled up in the middle, tense and unhappy, as nervous as a mouse being stalked by a cat.

Baldur knew, as I did, that most of the predators that lived here were experts at ambush, able to remain still and blend into the landscape for hours, waiting for a meal to come along. A salamander or a lava dragon could move quick as lightning when they chose, and I knew they'd see us as a godsend. Salamanders in Muspelheim were not the harmless little lizards they were in Asgard or Midgard. Muspelheim salamanders were the size of your head and were coated with a thick slime that burned like acid when it came into contact with living skin. They had wicked jaws and could gnaw through bone in a matter of minutes once they got started.

A lava dragon was a smaller wingless cousin to the dragons of Asgard, and they were so called because they lived in the rivers of lava that crisscrossed the Black Land. They were dark red spattered with gold and they were fond of swimming beneath the surface of a lava flow and then popping up behind their prey and gulping them down whole. They could grow to a good forty feet long and they considered human flesh a great delicacy.

The good news about those two monsters was that they mainly hunted at night and they were extremely vulnerable to water-based spells and even fresh water thrown on them. Fresh water was like poison to a salamander, and while it wouldn't kill a lava dragon, they were none too fond of it, and an ice spell would slay them if it hit them in the heart.

I told my companions all of this as we walked, for it took their minds off of the monotony of the Barren Plains. Baldur listened with half an ear, for he knew all of this, but the others hung on my every word, making me feel like a font of wisdom. Every twenty minutes or so, I'd call a halt and we'd sip from our water skins. It was far too easy to get dehydrated in this miserable heat, despite the silk that trapped the moisture close to our bodies. We drank in small gulps, keeping our scarves about our noses, for the less we breathed in the poison, sulfur-laden air the better.

"Do you think the fire giants know we're here?" Leif asked, coughing behind one gloved hand. For some reason, the young Vanir was the most affected by the air, and he often gasped for breath when we climbed the ropy lava piles, and coughed sharply when we rested. I'd told Bella to keep an eye on him, monitoring him with her healing sense.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It all depends on whether they've got a mage good enough to penetrate my misdirection spell," I answered, pausing to sip some tepid water from my water skin.

"And that isn't likely," Baldur remarked, looking like some walking mountain in his sand colored silks. He'd been the hardest to outfit, his tall frame needing most of the bolts of silk I'd obtained. He'd also put up the most objections, saying wearing that filmy stuff made him feel half-naked and first cousin to a damned fairy. "You'll thank me later, son," I pointed out mercilessly, and he quit grousing and scowled at me. Yet I noticed he'd not complained much about the heat once we'd started walking through the lava fields.

"Fire giants are too dumb to practice magic," the big warrior continued. "They're lucky to be able to count to ten, some of them. But some of them have the cunning of a wicked ten-year-old, those are the ones that are put in charge of the patrols. You wan to watch out for them, they like to torture prisoners, one piece at a time, cutting off a toe here, a fingernail there . . .vicious beasts."

"Baldur, could you tone down your, uh, explanations a bit?" I hissed, indicating my daughter and Marissa.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, ladies. Didn't mean to scare you," the big Aesir apologized, blushing.

"That's all right, Uncle Baldur," Bella said gamely. "Better to walk forward with our eyes open that closed in ignorance."

"They sound somewhat like some of the Comanche and Apache tribes down near the Mexican border," Marissa mused. "They're famous for their skill at keeping a person alive long after they should have died. Or at least that's what they say in the taverns."

"Well, I won't give one of them a chance to spit at me before I hit them with an icebolt," Leif said, his voice hoarse but filled with determination.

"What does a fire giant look like?" Marissa asked.

"Oh, they're ugly bastards," Baldur said helpfully. "Got a face that only a mother could love, and sometimes I doubt that. They're about, oh, ten to thirteen feet tall and they've got skin the color of the lava over there and hair black as pitch or sometimes smoke gray. And their eyes are yellow and slanted like a cat's."

"They've got teeth like a rat's, all snaggly and sharp," I added. "And when they talk it sounds like rocks grinding together. Most of them don't bother much with clothes, the males will wear a kind of kilt and a harness for weapons, and it's anyone's guess what the females wear, since they're never seen by outsiders."

"If they even have females," Baldur snorted. "What girl would ever want one of them for a husband?"

"Baldur, they have to have females," I sighed, having been over this before. "The race would have died out long ago if they didn't. And that hasn't happened, more's the pity."

"Must blindfold them or something then," Baldur muttered. "Cause if I had to wake up to that face every morning I'd take hemlock."

"Baldur, aren't you, uh, exaggerating a tiny bit?" Marissa asked.

"Nope. Trust me on that, lady. That's why they like to steal away Aesir and Vanir women when they can get them."

"They steal Vanir women?" Bella repeated in astonishment. "Then why in hell is Malastein making an alliance with them?"

"Because he's crazy," Leif snapped bitterly. "That doesn't matter, as long as the deal is to his advantage. I hope he chokes on it, the son of a bitch."

I reached over and patted his shoulder, sensing that beneath his angry words, he was deeply ashamed of his sire. "Don't worry, Leif. He'll get his, never fear. I'll see to that personally."

"Good. Kick his ass for me, won't you, Loki?" he said, his eyes darkening. Then he coughed.

"Here, drink this." Bella pressed a water skin on him. "You keep coughing like that and the giants won't need to see us to find us."

"What's in it?" Leif inquired warily.

"Mint tea. It'll soothe your throat," Bella answered, and winked at me. Clever girl! I knew the skin contained not only mint tea but a healing potion as well, to fix the Vanir's throat and lungs. Not that she could ever say so, for Leif would be highly insulted that she knew of his weakness and refuse her potion, the proud idiot.

This way, however, Leif sipped the tea gratefully, and the damage done to his lungs remained minimal.

"Got any more of that tea, Bella?" I asked. "Seems like we could all use a dose."

"Right here. Take two swallows, you'll have to share, since I didn't make up more than this," she explained. She swallowed some herself then passed the skin to me.

When I was done I gave it to Marissa, whose breath was beginning to sound raspy, like Leif's. Baldur drank last, and was careful to only drink a bit, I noted. He knew as well as I did what the tea contained, and noble hero that he was, had determined to save as much as possible for the others.

"See that crooked mountain peak up there?" Baldur asked, pointing to a rather oddly shaped mountain beyond a large river of lava. "That's Crag Keep, where Surtur the king of the fire giants holds court. I'd lay odds ten to one that's where Gungnir is kept."

I cast a glance at Marissa. "That true?"

She turned her head, her brow furrowing. "Yes, the spear does seem to be in that direction. But whether or not it's in the mountain I can't say until I get a bit closer."

"What's it like, being able to find things the way you do?" Baldur asked curiously.

Marissa was silent for a moment, considering. "You know when you get a hunch that something's going to happen, that small voice in the back of your head that whispers to you?" Baldur nodded. A good warrior got plenty of those warnings. "Well, when I seek an object, its like that little voice is screaming in my ear. I feel a strong desire, almost like somebody's pulling me by the hand, to go to wherever the object is. The closer I get to it, the stronger the feeling is. And I've never been wrong. Not once. But it only works on objects, not people."

"Do you get a lot of people asking you to find things for them, like missing hair clips and jewelry or shoes?" Baldur inquired. "Must drive you crazy, how stupid people are, forgetting where they put stuff."

"Actually, most people where I lived didn't know what I could do. People in my world don't believe in magic they way you do here," Marissa explained. "If I ever advertised what I could do, they'd call me a witch and probably try to burn me."

Leif was horrified. "They'd try and set you on fire just because you were able to find things with magic? What kind of barbarians are they, to not respect a Seeker? Seeking magic is one of the most useful of all the Talents."

Marissa shrugged. "People fear what they don't understand. I learned long ago not to advertise that I had a special ability. Even in my circus troupe, the only people who knew what I could do were my father and Esmerelda and her daughters, because they were Rom and not scared of the supernatural."

"Now I'm glad I haven't gone down to Midgard in awhile. People who don't believe in magic any more!" Baldur sneered. "How can you not believe in a force that's as much a part of creation as the moon and stars, as the earth and the wind?"

"Nowadays, people only believe in what they can see and touch," Marissa explained.

"Bah! You can't see the wind and yet you know it's there. You can't see the tides, yet men have known of their effects for centuries. Magic has always been in the world—all the worlds—and it always will be." Baldur stated solemnly. "Isn't that what you magicians teach, Loki?"

"It is, but I didn't know you warriors learned the five forces of the universe during your warrior training," I chuckled.

"We don't. My brothers wouldn't know what the five elements were if they bit them in the ass. I learned about them on my own, from reading my father's treatises on creation and philosophy," Baldur informed me loftily. "After you cured me from the mistletoe poisoning, I got curious about the way magic works, and I asked him to lend me some of his books on magical theory and I've been studying them ever since. I can't claim to understand half of them, but one thing I did get is that magic is one of the five forces of creation and anyone who tries to deny it is the biggest idiot ever born. Even Thor, numbskull that he is, doesn't deny the existence of magic."

"An Aesir warrior who studies philosophy. I'm impressed," Leif drawled. "Maybe my people have misjudged yours all these centuries, thinking all you Aesir had between your ears was air."

"Maybe so," Baldur grunted. "And maybe we were wrong too, thinking all you Vanir were arrogant little pricks with more brains than sense."

"Guess it's true, what they say. You learn something new every day," Bella said.

"Very true," I agreed, rising to my feet. "We've rested long enough. Time to get moving again. The longer we linger in one place, the easier salamanders and such will have to spot us."

"Are there really salamanders here, Master?" Leif grumbled. "Or is that another one of your stories? Because I haven't seen a sign of life since we set foot here."

"That's what they want you to think, boy," Baldur said calmly. "They want you to let your guard down, and then, while you're all relaxed, they'll creep up from behind and gulp you down. They're out there, boy. Watching and waiting. I can feel them."

His grim tone made the rest of them shiver. This time I did not bother to scold him for scaring them silly. Out here in the Black Land you need to be a little afraid, for that was what kept you alert and alive. In Muspelheim, it was the predator you never saw coming up behind you that would kill you.

We walked for what felt like hundreds of miles before I at last called a halt, after first asking Marissa if we were facing the right direction. At her nod, we set up camp, having no fire, for even the nights here were brutally hot. I checked myself over, certain that despite my silks the sun had blistered every inch of my skin. To my relief, I was not burned, just hot and tired and irritable.

So were the others. The lava pillows—ha! Misnomer there if I ever heard one—were warm but otherwise uncomfortable to rest on, and we had only light blankets to wrap ourselves in. We ate a dry tasteless meal of dried beef, fruit, and flatbread, washed down with numerous sips of water. Before going to sleep, Bella replenished our water skins with a spell, so at least we would have fresh water for the next morning. She also summoned a light breeze to swirl about us, so we could get some relief from the stifling heat.

We decided to keep watch in shifts, with Baldur volunteering to go first, as he was the least weary from our trek across the Barren Plains. The golden-haired warrior had been gifted with incredible stamina, and he looked as if he could run a marathon even now. I envied him profoundly for a moment, for I was aching and sore, and I longed for a cool spring and air that didn't stink of sulfur and ashes.

None of us felt like talking, so we simply ate and then rolled ourselves in our blankets for some much-needed rest. Before I closed my eyes, I could see Baldur's big frame slowly pacing about our campsite, just at the perimeter of the wards I'd set, like a great golden grizzly. It was very reassuring, knowing he was there.

It seemed that no sooner had I closed my eyes, than Baldur was shaking my shoulder, saying it was time for my turn on watch. I woke, rubbing my eyes, which were gritty and red from the drifting ash in the air. I splashed a bit of water on my face and wiped it off with a scrap of silk. It came away black with grime.

I took a swallow of water and rose to my feet, resolving to spend my watch in a form other than the one I was born with, something more suited to dealing with extremes of heat among other things. Also something that would make any of the predators that stalked the dark think twice about attacking us.

I waited until Baldur was snoring in his blankets before I transformed into the most feared creature in Asgard—a red dragon.

I spent the remainder of my three-hour watch flying around the camp, gliding lazily on the updrafts, reveling in the heat and not minding in the slightest the ash drifting down on my scales. My dragonsight could penetrate the murkiest corner of Muspelheim and my hearing was so acute that I could hear the salamanders squabbling in their dens miles away. I even smelled the rank odor of a lava dragon, swimming lazily about the great river of lava to the north, but since he showed no signs of coming out of his molten bath, I did not bother to challenge him.

I would have liked to remain in this shape for the duration of our journey, for dragon-shape is seductive in the extreme. My immortal form was puny indeed when compared to the power, grace, and sheer size of the red dragon. As a dragon I could soar above the earth, I was lord of the skies and master of the earth, and all cowered before me.

But I forced myself to land when my watch was done and resume my true form. Assuming a dragon's form for three-hours was long enough, any longer and I might risk losing myself. That had happened to me once before, when I lured Snorri's stallion away in the guise of a mare, and Sleipnir had been the result. I had vowed never to let it happen again, and especially not in a form as capricious and dangerous as that of a red dragon. Red dragons were avaricious and selfish, unlike their noble golden kin, and were universally feared and hated by everyone in Asgard. I had no wish to spend the rest of my days being hunted by every would-be dragonslayer in the realms, lost in dreams of blood and gold and glory.

Thus I relinquished the dragon-shape, though not without a pang of regret, and went to wake Leif. He spent his watch in the form of a huge brown bear, that being the most imposing creature he could shift into. Bella and Marissa stood the last watch together, and all was quiet.

We resumed our journey north towards the great lava river the next day, following Marissa like ducklings trailing their mother to the pond. The closer we drew to the lava river, the more the land grew cracked and jagged rocks poked up at various intervals, lurking about to stab the feet of the unwary wanderer and render him lame and easy prey.

Marissa coughed incessantly now, and her eyes watered from the glare and the dust, but she never complained. I ordered Bella to give her some more of her special tea and fashioned a blindfold for her eyes that would be glare proof, yet still allow her to see where she was going.

"The blind Seeker," she commented wryly when I tied the sash about her head. "I feel like Tiresias the prophet in Homer."

"Can you see all right?"

"Fine. At least my eyes don't sting so badly now." She brushed off her silks irritably, grimacing as black ash fell about her like rain. "Damn black dust. Gets into everything."

"How much further?" Leif asked, nearly doubled over with a coughing fit himself.

"I can feel it just past that big river there," Marissa answered. "How are we gonna cross that?"

"Loki can fly us over," Baldur said, shaking out his headcloth and rewrapping it about his golden locks.

"Fly you two over, you mean," I amended. "Bella and Leif can change shape same as I can."

"Long as I don't have to set foot in that river, I don't care how I get across," Baldur grunted. He drew his sword. The blade flashed mirror bright as the sun's rays hit it. "C'mon, kids. We won't get any nearer to the Spear of War standing here admiring the view."

He strode off, motioning me to his side as he did so.

"What is it?" I mouthed, sensing instinctively that something was wrong.

"Something's following us," he muttered in my ear. "I think it's either a damn big salamander or a lava dragon. I'm praying it's the salamander and not the dragon."

I swallowed sharply. "It could be either. I sensed a dragon in the river last night on watch, but it didn't seem to have noticed us."

"That was then and this is now. If it is the dragon, and I have a sinking feeling in my gut it is, you'd better prepare some pretty fancy magic, Loki. You know as well as I do how fast those bastards can strike."

"Take the point Baldur," I ordered. "I'm going to tell Bella and Leif. Say nothing to Marissa for now. She's scared enough as it is, no need to frighten her more if it turns out to be a false alarm."

I slipped away to inform my daughter and my apprentice of the potential peril, wishing with all my heart that Baldur's hunch was wrong, and there was nothing following us. I knew it for a fool's hope. Nothing crosses the Black Land without a fight, and Muspelheim had been too quiet for too long.

This time, though it would not catch us unprepared. Leif and Bella went white when I told them, but they took it like soldiers and did not panic. "We'll be ready, sir," the Vanir said. "I've got a few spells here that'll take the hide off one of those dragons. Lightning and ice should serve nicely."

"So will a hailstorm," Bella hissed and her green eyes gleamed.

Warning given, I swapped places with Baldur and resumed my usual place beside Marissa. I felt immensely better being next to her, knowing I was close enough to protect her if need be. Not that I didn't trust Baldur, but Marissa was betrothed and therefore my responsibility.

I helped her through a forest of sharp thorn-like obsidian, breathing a sigh of relief when we came through it unscathed, save for a few minor scratches. The roar of the lava river grew louder and we could see the molten rock flowing swiftly on its way to the thundering falls, where it emptied into a vast lake.

We were about fifty feet from the churning river when I heard Baldur cry, ""Ware all—a dragon comes!"

The great beast was already rearing a third of its length into the air, lunging at the warrior, fangs gaping wide to reveal teeth the size swords, black with slime and old blood. Baldur, luckily, had been prepared for he sidestepped the dragon's rush, slamming it behind the nostril with his great sword.

The creature shrieked and threw up its head, for Baldur's sword packs a wallop. Leif was already chanting a spell of ice, and glittery blue projectiles shot from his fingers, hardening into six foot spears of ice that smashed into the dragon with the forces of a dozen lances.

Furious, the dragon spat, its glowing yellow eyes bright with rage and shock. It had been counting on an easy bite to eat, not prey that fought to kill. "Get down!" I cried, shoving Marissa to the ground and crawling on top of her. I felt the air blister as the acidic spit flew over us to burn a hole in the ground.

Then Bella was calling up a hailstorm and Baldur had begun circling the great wyrm for another strike. The dragon had coiled up now, like a snake, and was screeching in its foul tongue. Its eyes suddenly lit on Marissa and I, lying prone on the ground, and an evil grin spread across its pointed face.

In an eyeblink it had coiled, drawing its head back much like a viper. I glanced up, saw I had the briefest second in which to act, then I changed, blurring into a frost drake in the fraction of a second that followed.

The lava dragon's teeth crashed into the armored chest of my frost drake form, scoring the scales but leaving me otherwise unharmed. I unleashed a terrific roar and shot my head down, my jaws closing on the upper part of the lava wyrm.

Then I gathered my hindlegs beneath me and launched into the air, taking the lava drake with me. I grabbed the slippery creature in my front claws and proceeded to blast it with my icy breath.

It wailed in mortal agony, icicles dripping off its snout, thrashing about like a worm on a hook. It took all of my considerable strength to hold onto it, my claws were black with its blood and innards. My wings burned with the effort of keeping aloft.

"Bella!" I cried. "Do it now, child!"

I increased my grip on the frantically thrashing lava dragon, pumping my wings hard into a hover just above the lava river. It swung its head about and its jaws closed on my shoulder. I shrieked in rage and pain, biting it hard in retaliation behind the head.

Just then Bella's conjured hailstorm hit us like an avalanche. I made sure the weakened lava dragon took the brunt of it, doing my best to fly as high above it as I could, though a frost drake wasn't bothered overmuch by the snow and cold it threw at me.

I could feel the lava dragon go limp and still in my claws. I shook it once hard, making sure it was truly frozen and dead. I gave a soft bellow of triumph and then opened my talons, letting the dead dragon go. It splashed into the river and I saw its body bob once before it was carried away.

I circled once, then landed carefully on the ground. My shoulder stung where the other dragon had bitten me, but I knew it wasn't serious. I eyed the bunch of human figures before me, licking my lips hungrily.

"Loki?" Marissa called, staring at me with awe.

I shook my head abruptly, recalling with a start that I was Loki of Asgard, not a wild frost drake. I released the shape with a sigh, and as I did so I felt my legs give way and I landed on my knees. Changing into a dragon two times in a row had weakened me even more than I thought it would.

"Father?" Bella was by my side in an instant, lifting my head to peer into my eyes. "I think you overdid it a bit."

"Brilliant diagnosis, doctor," I quipped. I tried to get to my feet.

"Be still," my daughter snapped, then she called her healing power into her hands and I felt it flow into me, banishing the bruises and weakness, and healing the nasty cut in my left shoulder where the dragon had bitten me.

"Thanks, kid," I murmured, hugging her to me for a moment. Then I released her and stood up.

"Is everyone else all right?" I asked, looking at my companions.

All of them nodded. Marissa came and hugged me then, examining me with worried eyes. "I didn't know you could turn into a dragon. That's amazing!"

"It's not something I like to do very often," I told her. "It uses up a lot of my strength and the form's too easy to get lost in."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I could forget who I am and remain a dragon forever. Better magicians than I am have been lost that way."

"You looked at us funny, when you landed on the ground, that was why I called you," the Seeker said.

"You did right, Marissa. The dragon mind wanted to take over my will, but I recalled who I was just in time. That's why it's dangerous to kill in another shape, because it brings a predator's instincts to the fore and makes it hard to remember who you are." I brushed a hand a cross my forehead. "Where's the spear?"

"Still in the same place it was last night. Across this great river of fire."

I exhaled slowly. "Let me rest a bit, then I can figure out how we're going to cross it."


	28. The Black Spear Comes Home

**The Black Spear Comes Home**

I allowed myself only a half-hour's rest before I was on my feet again. I knew that our struggle with the lava dragon would not have gone unnoticed by the giants and I didn't want to have to fight off a party of scouts while I flew passengers across the river. I chose to fly Baldur across first, since if any giants did show up, he could keep them occupied until the rest of us joined him.

I placed my hands on Baldur's shoulders and whispered the words "Volare maximus!" Baldur slowly rose and floated about five feet into the air.

He glanced down at me uneasily. "What happens now? Do I try to walk on the air or something?"

"No. Just be still and I'll direct you across." I instructed. Then I waved a hand and he soared out over the river. When I lowered him to the ground on the other side he was grinning like a little kid in a candystore.

"Damn, but that was fun! I could get to like this flying thing real easy." He chuckled, then turned to glance at Crag Keep behind him.

"Bella and Leif, change into birds or something and get across there."

Bella blurred into a falcon and Leif into an owl, gliding across the river with ease. They flew a ways beyond where Baldur was standing to scout. I turned back to Marissa. "All right, sweetheart. I'm going to cast the same spell on you that I did on Baldur. Relax and you'll be on the other side in a flash."

I cast the spell on her and she floated up and across the river, landing safely on the other side. Then I used the same spell and flew across myself, since bird-shape made me nauseous. My head throbbed and I winced. I knew I couldn't risk transforming again that day.

"Where to now, Miss Turner?" I asked wearily. "Is it in Crag Keep?"

She shook her head. "No. But it is nearby. I can feel it shivering through my bones. It's moving, Loki. Whoever has it is carrying it somewhere."

"Probably right towards us, if I know Surtur," Baldur predicted. "And I ought to, considering how many times we've fought over the years. He's coming to see what in hell just trounced his pet dragon, or I'm no son of Odin."

"In that case, we'd better prepare some kind of welcome for them, Uncle Baldur," Bella said fiercely.

"Better hurry then, love," Leif called back from where he was flying overhead in owl shape. "They're coming in from the northwest, riding some kind of giant lizards."

"How many, Leif?"

"Six fire giants and one Vanir lord," he reported back grimly.

I exchanged worried glances with Baldur. "Think you can hold off that many lizard riders while I try and negotiate with Malastein?"

"Negotiate?" Baldur repeated in disbelief. "Hela's tits, Loki! Why not just kill the bastard?"

"Because I'm trying to stop a war, not start one." I pointed out. Warriors! Why was their answer to everything five feet of steel through the heart? "Besides, my daughter's betrothed to his son, and I don't want to start off their marriage with bad blood between me and my son-in-law."

"Uh, yeah, that would be kind of hard to forgive," the flaxen-haired warrior conceded. He unsheathed his sword. "Don't worry, my friend. Skullhammer and I will take care of those fire giants while you attempt to talk sense into that fool Vanir. I wish you luck. I have a funny feeling you're gonna need it."

I turned to Marissa, who was pale and sweating beneath her burnoose and scarves. "Listen. This may get nasty, and I can't spare much of my power to protect you, so I'm going to ask you to hide behind a rock or something until this is over. I don't want you to get killed if I can help it, so just lay low, okay?"

"All right. Getting squashed by a giant is not the way I want to remember my trip to Muspelheim," she joked, then kissed me hard. "I'll be behind this rock here if you need me. Kick the bastard's ass good, Loki. For Pa and me both."

"With pleasure." I'd be only too happy to thrash Malastein within an inch of his misbegotten life. After I reclaimed Gungnir, that is. I only hoped that my famous honey tongue would work on the hardheaded Vanir. Then again, I had no reason to doubt it wouldn't. I'd argued circles around better men and come out ahead.

Once I'd made sure Marissa was out of sight, I spun back around to see what little surprises my companions were planning for Malastein and company.

Bella had laid down a row of innocent-looking white pebbles in front Baldur. I recognized them as enchanted hailstones that when triggered would explode with all the force of a cannon shot. They should be enough to slow down the advance guard, if not disable them outright.

Up above, Leif was flying in the stealthy shape of a great horned owl. At first he'd wanted to try and snatch Gungnir from his father, but I quickly vetoed that plan. There was no telling how the spear would react to someone trying to take it from its wielder by force, and the last thing we needed was for Leif to be killed trying to redeem himself.

I convinced him instead to help out Baldur and Bella by attacking the salamanders and giants from above, using those huge talons to even the odds. Baldur was standing with his feet planted, his sword out and ready, like some immovable mountain, or a hero out of legend. He looked a bit strange without his customary mail and bearskin cloak, but I sensed he was just as deadly, even swathed in Arabian silks. In fact, the silks would give him an edge in mobility, and he could dodge and attack quicker than he'd of been able to in his Viking armor.

My daughter stood a few feet behind the big fighter, her hands cradling her water wizard's staff, with which she could summon storms that would pin Surtur's pointed ears back for him. It was made of white ash and set with pearls and a colossal turquoise at the top. I could feel the restless energy of the sea and the wind swirling inside it, waiting to be released.

I could feel the ground shudder as the lizard riders and Malastein drew nearer. Norns hear me now, I beg you. Protect my family and let no harm befall them. And give me the tongue of all the bards of Erin that I may persuade Malastein of his folly in stealing the Black Spear. I sent that prayer winging with the speed of thought to the Spinners of Fate, and hoped it would be enough to guarantee us victory.

For if I failed here, I knew it would mean another century or so of warfare between Aesir and Vanir. Therefore, Loki, I told myself sternly, you must not fail. You must recover Gungnir at all costs.

THUD! THUD! THUD! The feet of the salamanders slammed repeatedly into the rock, making the ground shake like a strawberry jelly mold on Yule Eve. My palms began to sweat and I wiped them hastily on my pants. I must project an aura of calm and coolness, act like I had the upper hand, the ace in my sleeve. Otherwise Malastein would think he could walk all over me.

The salamanders and their fire giant riders emerged from the cloud of black dust first, brandishing huge spears that looked as if they'd uprooted small saplings and set a spearhead on them. Their homely faces were set in a scowl so deep that I was sure it'd frozen there. As they saw us they let out huge yells that were designed to make us panic and bolt for cover.

But Baldur stood firm, as did Bella, only wincing at the volume. In fact, Baldur the Brave laughed in their faces, crying, "Come on, you spineless sons of goat turds! Is that the best you've got? My son could yell louder than that. Shall I show you how it's done?" he drew in a huge lungful of air, then released it in a truly piercing screech, like the howl of a banshee.

The lead salamander pulled up, shaking its head in pain. Its rider kicked it hard in the ribs, but the beast fought him, clearly not wanting to go anywhere near whatever produced that hateful noise. Furious, its rider cuffed it with one massive hand, almost knocking the lizard off its feet. Off balance from the blow, the unlucky lizard stumbled right into one of Bella's little hailstones.

The next thing I saw was a white swirl of snow and kaboom! The fire giant and his mount went flying some ten feet across the ground.

That's my girl! I cheered silently, fighting back a grin at my child's resourcefulness.

The other two giants roared in fury at sent their mounts pounding towards Baldur, who didn't bother with introductions, but jumped right into the middle of them, Skullhammer flashing. Giant blood and salamander brains splattered all over. Confident that Baldur was holding his own, I directed my gaze to the rider in the middle of the pack of lizard riders.

Malastein was wearing shiny Vanir mail and a blue cloak, his long fair hair bound back by a gold fillet, which proclaimed his noble ancestry. He carried Gungnir in one fist, tip lowered like a lance. I could feel the Black Spear thrumming with eagerness from here. This was what it had been made to do, and it was howling to be set free to shed blood and deal death.

Silently I bid the Vanir lord to come to me, and his cold sapphire gaze locked with mine as if summoned. I saw recognition flare in their icy depths and a slow smile spread across his narrow lips. He urged his mount into a trot, heading straight towards me.

Unlike the fire giants, Malastein was not fooled into setting off Bella's trap. He brought the salamander to a halt just before the pebbles and vaulted neatly over the ring to land before me in a crouch, Gungnir cradled in one hand.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Loki."

"I was about to say the same of you, Malastein," I drawled, giving him my best serpent's smile. "Then again, I guess it only makes sense for you to fall in with rogues and thieves, all things considered."

His eyes narrowed. "What things, little magician?"

"Let's not kid ourselves, Lord Malastein," I began, my voice low and sweet as poisoned honey. "You and I know that you've acquired property that doesn't belong to you. Now, won't you save yourself a lot of grief and just hand it over? Before it persuades you into doing something you'll regret."

"Such as?" he said silkily, his long fingers caressing the spear fondly.

"Such as starting a war you can't win," I said bluntly, knowing that subtlety was lost on him now. Gungnir's siryn call had settled deep within his mind and he was deaf to the finer points of diplomacy.

Malastein smirked at me, clearly amused by my words. "Ah, magician, I think you have that backwards. You Aesir better be careful not to start a war you can't win. For I'm the holder of the Black Spear now, and the one who holds the spear shall triumph in battle over any enemy." He lifted the spear and shook it, reminding me of nothing so much as small boy trying to intimidate an older rival with his shiny new toy.

"Only if the one who wields the spear knows how to control it, my lord," I reminded him gently. "Poor Malastein! You've been led astray, I fear, by the very thing you sought to master. Gungnir's been whispering in your head, hasn't he? Promising you victory and glory unending if you'll allow it to drink your blood, hasn't it?"

The Vanir lord went white. Then he bared his teeth in a feral snarl and cried, "What's it to you if I have? Now Gungnir knows me and it will obey me and only me. So best go crawling back to your one-eyed master, Loki Son of Nobody, and tell him that the time of the Aesir is over. Now it's the Vanir's turn to rule! For too long have we been ground under the heel of that tyrant Odin and his idiot sons, humiliated and reviled because of our beauty and our magic. Our culture is better than yours, our poets smarter, and our warriors more honorable," he boasted. "And our women are more beautiful and virtuous than your Aesir sluts."

"And your lords are more treacherous, aren't they Lord Malastein?" I shot back, beginning to get sick of all his preening. It was worse than watching the peacocks strut across the lawn at Valhalla. "Who was it that had to resort to deceiving and intimidating his own son in order to get Gungnir? Hardly a deed the skalds will sing of, now is it? Malastein the Sly, stealing Gungnir from the hands of his own son, after he'd sworn upon his sacred honor to never use the spear against his new Aesir relatives. Does Gungnir's voice drown out the cries of kinslayer and murderer now, Malastein?"

"You're no kin of mine, nor ever will be, Loki! I forbid my son to have anything to do with your bitch of a foundling." Malastein growled.

"Pity he didn't listen to you then," I taunted. "For he is contracted by word and deed to my daughter Bella, which is the only reason I'm here arguing with you now, you warmongering bastard. For once in your life, listen when someone else talks, Malastein Haraldsson. Is your pride worth the price of your honor? Or that of your people? How many innocents will die if the Vanir and Aesir go to war again? Your people have prospered these many years, trading with mine. Will you throw away all you have gained for a few bloody minutes of glory that will be forgotten with your death? Think of your children, my lord. Would you have them rule over a barren land, soaked in blood, haunted by the spirits of the betrayed? Or would you rather see them reign over a prosperous land, green and alive, happy and content, in friendship with their neighbors? Gungnir can't give you that, Malastein. All it brings is death and destruction. Give it back to us, before it's too late."

He was silent for a few moments, and I began to hope that my desperate pleas had reached him. I soon realized that my words, heartfelt as they were, had fallen on deaf ears. "No more of your tricks, Loki! I'm not stupid. Once you have the spear back, what's to prevent you from using it on us? I know you, Trickster. Odin won't hesitate to bring the full force of his wrath down on Vanaheim for my taking Gungnir. And if you think I'll roll over and expose my throat to his fangs, than you're more of a fool than you look."

"I promise you, Malastein, that if you return the Black Spear now, no retaliation will take place. This I swear by the Norns, who spin the threads of all, even the gods." I placed my hand over my heart, the way one did when making a sacred vow. "Odin desires peace between our people, that's why he has kept Gungnir on the wall of the mead hall all these years. Let it return there, where it belongs."

"It belongs in my hand, Loki, dealing death to the Aesir whelps who oppose me. So best mind your manners, cur, before I cut you a new mouth."

"Jackass!" I cried, furious at his stubbornness. "Keep the spear and you condemn not only your people but your son to death. Stealing Gungnir from Valhalla is the act of a traitor, and unless it is returned, Leif will be executed as such. Is that what you want? To see your child's head chopped off while the entire Asgardian court watches?"

All of that was, of course, pure fabrication on my part. Leif was not under a sentence of death, nor would I have ever allowed anyone to arrest him as a traitor. But this was my trump card, my last-ditch attempt to get him to give up the spear without bloodshed.

"Leif? A traitor?" Malastein repeated in disbelief. "Odin's bloody eye, you're not serious? The brat can't even lace up his boots without help. And they'd demand a traitor's death from him?"

"If Gungnir isn't returned, Thor has decreed Leif must die, as he was in bondage to the Aesir when he committed the crime. Will you stand by and see your youngest child killed for a deed he committed to gain your approval, Malastein?" I pressed.

The Vanir lord hesitated, his sapphire eyes clouded with indecision.

"You can save him, my lord. All you have to do is return what he stole and all will be forgiven," I purred. Surely he must see the sense in my offer. What man would condemn his son to death for the sake of a spear?

He bent forward, Gungnir extended for me to take.

I reached for it, thanking all the Norns he'd come to his senses.

Only to have the Black Spear snatched back with a mocking laugh. I gazed up at Malastein in confusion. "What game are you playing here, my lord?"

"One I mean to win. The Black Spear is mine and so it will remain. You may take my son's head and be welcome for it, as it's the last thing you shall have of my House."

"You can't mean that!" Marissa cried, horrified. She came forward from behind the rock that had shielded her, disbelief and outrage at the Vanir lord making her careless of her own safety. "What kind of father condemns his child to death? And you name us barbarians!"

Malastein whirled on her, his eyes wild. "Silence, mortal! When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Until then keep thy tongue behind thy teeth where it belongs, insolent wench!"

Marissa opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but I jumped in before she could give him a piece of her mind. "Don't be hasty, Malastein. You're not thinking this through."

"Wrong again, half-breed. I meant what I said. Leif's nothing but a milksop, he's no great loss to me or mine. What's one son more or less? I can always breed up some more, better than that little coward any day of the week." He drew himself up to his full height. "At least his death will be useful to me."

I remained speechless at that last declaration, aghast at his callousness. Leif had been right. He really was an unmitigated bastard. No wonder Gungnir had such a hold on him. Only one who was as selfish and uncaring as Malastein could have fallen so fully under the spell of the Spear of War and Death.

"Very well then, you Vanir pig!" I snarled. "You want a fight? Then a fight you'll have."

And with that I drew back my hand and threw a handful of sparks in his face. I intended to blind him, for I didn't want to have his death on my hands. The sparks sizzled and burned where they struck his face, and Malastein fell back with a howl.

"Treacherous Aesir bastard!" he screamed, one hand lifting to cover his face.

While he was thus occupied, I darted in to grab the Black Spear, forgetting in my haste that the spear was not going to come to me without a fight, not blood-bonded as it was to Malastein.

As soon as my fingers touched the shaft, a jolt of electricity shot through me, and I was sent flying back against the rock Marissa was hiding behind, my head hitting the obsidian with a sharp crack. My vision blurred and I tasted blood in my mouth. Sharp pain stabbed me in the side and I knew I'd cracked a couple of ribs at least.

I lifted my head, trying desperately to focus.

I could hear my enemy moving and I knew I had to move, but I was so tired . . . Norns help me, I was exhausted . . .and I hurt like all the fires of Muspelheim . . .I blinked woozily, peering through half-closed lids at the dark shapes in front of me.

Malastein was there, and in his face was all the ages old hate and vengeance of the Vanir for every man of Aesir blood ever born. I looked into his cold eyes and knew my death waited there, pitiless and implacable.

I had no more tricks left, no more magic that I could pull out of my sleeve to divert the dark specter. Yet I refused to cower and look away. If the Norns had chosen Malastein as the instrument of my destruction, I would face it unflinchingly.

Bella, forgive me . . .Marissa, forgive me. . . I wanted so much for us to be together . . .

I saw Gungnir gleaming in the Vanir's hand, heard its soft mocking laughter, whispering of its need for blood and death and tears . . .watched as Malastein drew it back . . .

"Leave him alone, you bastard!"

A shadow blocked my sight, but I didn't need to see to know that the spear had been cast. I could hear the hissing of its passage as it flew, unerringly on its course.

I braced myself for the impact of iron through flesh and bone.

The Black Spear flew true . . .

. . . straight into the breast of Marissa Turner, who had sprang in front of me at the last instant, taking the blow and the death meant for me upon herself.

The impact drove the spear's point deep into the ground, leaving Marissa's fragile form impaled upon the shaft, a willing sacrifice to the Fates.

**What should happen now? Should Marissa live? Review and let me know! Thank you!**


	29. The Gift

**The Gift**

I stared, transfixed, at the sight of Marissa slumped on the black shaft of the Spear of War and Death. I could not move, could not even breathe. If I did, I knew it would simply affirm what my eyes were already seeing—my beloved, struck down, her heart's blood slowly running out of her to pool in a red swath across the dark rock.

In the wake of the Black Spear the broken bodies of innocents lay scattered.

Some skald had written that during the last war when Odin had used Gungnir, I recalled fuzzily. Truer words had never been spoken, for there lay my Seeker, innocence shattered and broken indeed.

With a snarl, I reached out and tore the spear from her, my eyes red with such fury that I could barely breathe. It slipped free of her easily, sated now with her blood. My hand tightened convulsively on the bloodied shaft, dark with the blood of countless victims. I knelt on one knee, Gungnir balanced lightly in my hand, rage mingled with grief thick in my throat, searching out an enemy to slay.

*I am death. I am blood. I am the glory of war. Use me. Wield me, and I shall make of you a legend. *

I could hear Gungnir's sweet war ballad in my head, urging me to kill, to slay, to forget my loss in the flames of war and vengeance.

For there was Malastein, weaponless before me. Malastein, the slayer of my beloved. Malastein, my blood enemy, who owed me the price of a mortal life. For one instant all the blood-debt and vengeance of my wild Aesir ancestors rose in me, rattling their swords and shields, screaming loudly for the sweet taste of vengeance and blood. A red mist rose before me, and I knew I could claim blood-guilt from Malastein with Gungnir and satisfy this aching in my chest with his death.

*Slay him, my lord, and the blood-price will be satisfied,* the Black Spear hissed, trembling in my grasp.

But no, that was wrong. I was no warrior, no lord. I was a magician . . .and I did not kill for the joy of it, nor revel in death and destruction. The path of vengeance and hate was not for me. I turned a deaf ear to Gungnir's pleading, dropping the Black Spear at my feet.

I lifted Marissa into my arms, cradling her close. Blood stained my arms and tunic a brilliant crimson. Cold, she was so cold . . .But I could feel the life in her still . . . a few breaths . . .her eyelids fluttered . . .I knew then what I must do. I had not the gift to heal, such was not my Talent. Yet all immortals are given the power to save a life once in their existence.

Once only.

I had turned away from the path of vengeance, the old way of war.

Now I embraced the path of peace, and to that end I would heal what had been broken.

I bent over her, my mouth touching hers. "Take my breath, it is a gift I give freely." I breathed into her mouth.

I drew upon the last of my power. "Take my life, it is a gift I give freely." I felt the great wound in her chest close, the blood begin to run in her veins once more.

"Take my heart, I give it to you freely. By all the Powers That Be, I make you immortal, whole in body and spirit, a part of me for all eternity."

With those words I gave her all that I was. All of my power, the true essence of what I was, that made me immortal, I took from within me and shared with her. I felt my bones turn to liquid fire and I screamed in agony, for such a gift is not made without sacrifice. But beyond the pain was light, love, and a heart that beat warm and steady beneath my fingers.

Marissa lived, she breathed, and suddenly all of the pain that had gone before was worth it. I had sacrificed a portion of my immortality in return for her life, but I found I did not care. The sharing had made me more, not less. To gain all, you must first sacrifice all. Like Jesus before me, I had offered up the ultimate sacrifice, and been rewarded beyond all expectations.

I held Marissa close, savoring her every breath, my eyes bright with tears, and waited for the battle to end.

End it did, with Baldur slaying Malastein when he refused to surrender to the Aesir prince, and Bella and Leif driving the remaining fire giant away with snowballs and heavy rain. I was content. The threat of war no longer loomed upon the horizon. Gungnir would be returned to Valhalla, where its influence would be muted and muffled, and peace would reign once more in the realm of the gods.

My quest was done. Now I could go home and live the life I had chosen for myself as magician of Asgard. Only this time I wouldn't be going home alone. I, who was once an orphan with no family, would now return with a wife and a daughter and a new son.

I smiled as I thought of this. Then I passed out, right in my new wife's immortal arms.

* * * * * *

Marissa informed me later that I slept for nearly a week, because even immortal flesh doesn't recover that quickly from being battered, torn, drained, and given away. But when I woke I was lucid, refreshed in body and soul, and . . .weak as a newborn kitten. For three days I remained thus, barely able to stir a step without help, living off broth and a thin gruel fed to me by Ava and Bella. But on the fourth day I awoke hale and hearty as if nothing had ever happened, full of energy and vigor, my magic sparkling through me like fine wine.

I met Marissa coming through the door with a tray of soup and bread. The sight of me awake and dressed startled her so much she nearly dropped the whole tray on the floor. Luckily, I caught it just as it slipped from her grasp, placing it on the table next to the bed.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I was just about to go looking for something to eat," I said, and gave her my most endearing grin.

"I guess you're feeling better, huh?" Laughing, she kissed me.

"Much." I answered, drawing her into my arms and putting my head against her hair. She smelled of lavender and hyacinths. Quite a contrast from the last time I'd held her, bleeding and dying in my arms. We remained that way for a long while, neither of us saying anything.

At last I said, "It's like a miracle, holding you in my arms, alive and laughing."

"I know."

"Did they tell you what happened after Gungnir . . .struck you?"

"Yes. Bella explained everything to me. She told me you saved my life . . .by giving me the gift of your immortality. Does that make you half immortal now?"

"No. It only means that my powers are less than what they were. A small price to pay for bringing you back among the living."

"Oh Loki. I can never repay you," she began.

"Hush," I put a finger to her lips. "All debts between us are paid, Marissa, as of this moment. You saved me and I saved you. The scales balance. What I gave you, I gave freely, and I will never regret it. Do you?"

"No. Of course not! I only wish there was something I could give you in return."

"But you already have given me something. Yourself. Live with me and love me, that's all I ask of you."

"I can do that. That won't be hard at all."

"Ummm . . .you might think differently after you've had to put up with me for a month."

"I doubt it," she answered. "I love you, Loki. Now more than ever."

"Me too." I said, then I sat down on the bed, holding her gently on my lap.

"Hey! I thought you were hungry, mister," she giggled, fending off my hands.

"I am. Just not for food. Yet." I said huskily. I began to play with her hair.

"Should you be doing this? So soon after you've been sick, I mean?"

"I'm fully recovered," I chuckled. "Why? Don't you want to?"

"Yes. I just was worried . . .that I might exhaust you or something," she said impishly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Exhaust me? Woman, when I'm through with you, you'll see who's exhausted." I threatened, kissing her ardently.

"Is that a promise?" she asked, her eyes twinkling up at me.

"Definitely."

I shut up after that, concentrating on pleasuring her utterly. I was no novice to the art of lovemaking, but with Marissa it was as if I were reborn, and together we explored the depths of our newfound passion, surrendering utterly to the god of desire. And in her arms I learned again the definition of love, which I had never really known before. Always before, I had kept a part of myself back when I made love, never daring to surrender myself utterly to another. Not so with Marissa.

I had gone to the gates of death for her, had bartered for her soul with the coin of my immortality. There was nothing I did not know about her and she about me. My darkest secrets and noblest sentiments were hers to know, and the same was true of her. Once that would have terrified me, but no longer. I had learned to trust, and thus to love wholeheartedly.

The lonely child that had been betrayed by those he had trusted was no more, he had found solace in Marissa's arms, she who had sought out all the bruised places in my soul and healed them with her compassion and love. She alone in all the world accepted me for all that I was—magician, thief, rogue, father, lover, and husband.

And all she asked for in return was that I love her.

I did, God help me, I did. More than I ever thought possible.

In the days that followed, I set out to prove my love to her in both word and deed. I courted her in the old-fashioned sense of the word, bringing her small gifts of jewelry and candy, taking her for long walks in the orchard, or riding with her along the beach beside Ran's sea palace.

We played in the waves, swimming as dolphins or sea otters, frolicking with the mer people who were Ran's subjects. Afterwards we had a picnic on the sand, sharing the fish and other food we'd brought with the mermaids and mermen, who'd assumed legs for an afternoon.

The seafolk were extremely fun to be around, they loved to joke and laugh and to play silly games like Blindman's Bluff and charades, as well as riddles and dice. They made a potent wine from pressed sea grapes called seasilk, and thought it hilarious when we got drunk after only two glasses. The mer people metabolize alcohol differently than we Aesir do, and thus it takes them longer to get drunk. But they very kindly put Marissa and me to bed in their palace, treating us as honored guests.

This was partly due to the fact that they respected me as the highest ranking magician in Asgard and didn't want to run the risk of offending me, and also due to the fact that my wife and I were now regarded as heroes for finding and recovering Gungnir. It was ironic, really, that the object that had caused us both so much pain and toil was also the very thing that made our reputations great.

Leif had even composed a ballad about our quest, and for once it wasn't idiotically heroic or filled with high-flown sentiments, but a simple tale of mistakes made, love found, sacrifices made, souls redeemed, and justice served. In short it told the truth, as so few bardic tales do.

I was quite proud of him for writing it, for he did not spare himself at all, but he said afterwards that it was part of his penance for stealing Gungnir in the first place. Thor, after hearing it for the first time, declared the young Vanir had punished himself more aptly than he could have, and declared the matter closed.

Thus Leif married my daughter with a clear conscience and an unsullied reputation. The two moved into a small house I had built for them on the edge of my property, as Leif was still my apprentice, as Bella was Ran's. The young Vanir was nothing like his vindictive father, for he forgave Baldur for killing his sire. "He had to be stopped, and the Norns chose you as the instrument of their vengeance. You did us all a favor."

So passed the long lazy days of summer, and in Odin's absence, I helped Thor draw up a treaty with the Vanir lords that would, I hoped, put an end to their squabbling with my people and bring about a lasting peace between the two kingdoms. It was dry, boring, and maddening work, since the Vanir lords were inclined to quibble over every word, but at last we managed to hammer out a set of accords everyone could live with, Norns be praised! Whoever said peace was easy has never tried to ratify a treaty with the Vanir. It was a hell of a lot easier when we were trying to kill each other with our bare hands, believe me. I had to keep Thor drunk for most of the proceedings, since otherwise he would have probably insulted half the delegation with his blunt (read rude here) ways and started another war. But in the end it all worked out.

It was around this time that my footloose and fancy-free brother decided to return home. He roused me from my warm bed at the crack of dawn by tapping on my door with his blasted walking stick (which was really a Staff of the Magi in disguise). I was ready to spit fire, I can tell you, especially since I'd been sleeping quite contentedly with Marissa wrapped about me.

I yanked open the door, practically frothing at the mouth. "What the bloody blue blazes do you want? Don't you know what time of the morning it is, damn it all?"

"So sorry, brother. Was I interrupting something?" Odin inquired, his one eye twinkling merrily.

I nearly fell over. "Fenrir's bloody blue balls! About time you came home, Odin!" I gasped.

"Ah, that's more like it," my brother laughed, embracing me heartily.

"Come in, you old vagabond. Wait till you hear what's been going on while you were away . . ." I began.

Odin followed me meekly, and sat drinking several cups of tea and eating some of Ava's delicious cinnamon-blueberry scones while I filled him in on everything that had happened in the year and a half he'd been away.

"Well, at least you weren't bored," he remarked after I'd finished my story. "Oh, and congratulations on your marriage. I think you'll make a better husband than me, Loki. So when do I get to meet your new wife?"

"Right now," Marissa answered from the hallway. She was wearing a pretty lavender dressing gown and fuzzy sheepskin slippers. "I'm not sure if I should curtsy or just shake your hand, sir."

"A hug will do just fine, my lady," the old reprobate said, grinning. "And just call me Odin, Marissa, we're family now, you know." He hugged her gently. "May I offer you my sincerest congratulations on your new marriage?"

"Thank you, Odin. But that's not all you have to congratulate me on, brother-in-law," she said with the air of a little girl with a guilty secret. "You see, I'm pregnant."

"Already?" I gaped.

Marissa shot me a puzzled glance. "Well, a child usually follows a wedding night. Why are you so surprised, Loki?"

"Because most immortals don't conceive easily the way mortal women do, my dear," Odin informed her calmly. "That's why he looks like you've just smacked him upside the head with a hammer."

"Oh." My wife shrugged. "Guess I'm an exception then."

"In more ways than one," I said, then I grabbed her and spun her about the room. "That's the best news I've had in months, Marissa darling. Do you know when you're due?"

"Around April or thereabouts, I think." The smile she gave me lit up the whole room. "What do you think about Matthew for a boy? Or Aleta if it's a girl, after your mother?"

"Whatever you like is fine with me," I said, grinning like a fool. "Give me some of that mead you've been slipping into your teacup on the sly, Odin. This calls for a drink."

**A/N: So what do you think the baby will be? You'll find out in the next chapter!  
**


	30. Magician's Heir

**Magician's Heir**

After Odin and I had drunk several toasts to the health of my wife and the unborn child, the old vagabond said he had to be going, that his wife was waiting for him, and bid us goodbye. "What a dear sweet old man!" my wife exclaimed. "We'll have to have him over for lunch sometime with Frigga."

I rolled my eyes. "You won't need to invite him, he'll just show up." It never ceases to amaze me how my wandering reprobate of a brother charms every woman he meets. I mean, he's got one eye, gray hair, and a case of wanderlust the size of the Atlantic Ocean, yet women adore him. I said as much to Marissa, and all she said was, "Yes, but he's got a way about him that makes you like him."

"Yeah, because he's never in one place long enough to get on your nerves. I don't know how Frigga puts up with him. I think he's been gone more than he's been home since they've been married."

"Sometimes, for some people, that's the only way they can stay together," my wife pointed out sagely.

"Not in my marriage." I declared. "I made you a promise that I'd always be there for you and I mean to keep it. A man belongs with his wife."

"Even when I have this baby?" she teased, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Right up until the moment it's born," I said tenderly.

"Oh? That'll raise a few eyebrows."

"Let it. I know as much about birthing as any woman." I laid a hand protectively over her stomach. "And I'm speaking from experience here."

"You were a horse," she reminded me tartly. "It's not the same thing . . ."

"In theory, perhaps not, but in practice it's the same. And unlike me, you won't be alone and scared out of your wits, because I'll be right there holding your hand."

"My brave magician. Braver than any man I know. Even my father left the room before I was born."

"Braver than any warrior. Thor was dead drunk for his sons' births and even Baldur passed out cold when Vali was born."

"Do immortal women give birth easier than human ones?"

"Now that I can't answer. But I'm sure Baldur's wife Nanna can." I said, my hand still cupping her flat stomach. Then I frowned, for I had felt not one, but two distinctive flutters of consciousness in her womb. I listened again, biting my lip in concentration.

Yes. I could definitely feel two minds in there. Pride filled me to overflowing and I found myself smiling unabashedly. Twins were a rare occurrence among us immortals, who generally found it difficult to conceive one baby, let alone two at once.

"What is it? You're smirking like the cat who swallowed the canary."

I lifted my face to look at her, my eyes dancing. "Sweetheart, you're going to be a mother twice."

"Twice? But that's not poss . . .good God, you mean I'm having twins? How do you know that?" Now her hand was covering mine.

"I can feel them. Much the way you can feel an object you're Searching for."

"Are they well?"

"Lively as tadpoles, and just about as big, I think. Which is how it should be." I patted her reassuringly. "Would you like to know what they are?"

"You can tell that too?" she cried in wonder. "Isn't it too early?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Male and female thoughts differ even at this stage. Well, Ma? D'you want to know or not?"

"No. I want to be surprised. Don't tell me."

"You sure?" I wheedled. "If you know what they are you can pick out names for them already and decorate the nursery."

"Quit tempting me, you wicked rogue!" she ordered, giggling. Then she slapped my hand away. "I want to find out like every other woman does, when they're born. Now be good, Loki, and don't ruin the surprise."

"Very well," I sighed. "But I think you ought to call one of them—" I began.

"Stop! Not another word, magician!" my wife snapped, putting a hand over my mouth.

I held up a hand. "Okay, okay. No need to get all riled, Marissa the Marvelous."

She smiled at her old stage name. "We'll have to bring the babies to visit when they're old enough to travel. I wonder how Marco and the rest are getting along now that I've officially given the show to them? Did you know they've changed the name to Flynn's Flying Circus?"

"I figured. They couldn't very well keep the old one, now could they?" I said sensibly. "If you want, I'll give you a scrying mirror, so you can see for yourself how they are. I might even give one to Esmerelda, so then you two can talk to each other as well. Will that make you happy, love of my life?"

"Extremely happy." Then she kissed me the way most men only dream of being kissed.

No doubt about it, I was one lucky magician.

* * * * * *

My twins were born on a sunny day at the end of April—the 24th in fact. By that time Marissa was as big as an elephant and twice as cranky. Not that I blamed her. I remembered it being awkward as a mare, and I'd had four hooves to support my huge belly. As a woman, it must be ten times as awkward.

The nearer the due date, the more time my wife sought out the company of other woman, like Nanna, Frigga, and Sigyn. She spent hours down at Baldur's, drinking cups of tea and cocoa, discussing various aspects of birthing and childrearing. She could have written an entire medical treatise on the subject by the time the twins were born, swear to Christ. I even asked her if she was taking notes one day, and got a smack for my curiosity. It had been an honest question, though she called it a smartass comment. Pregnant females! They're so damn touchy.

As I had promised nine long months ago, I was present from beginning to end. I nearly pitched Brunhilda, the midwife, out on her derriere for trying to lock the door on me. She claimed it wasn't proper for a man to be in the birthing room.

"Hells bells, woman, she's my wife not some stranger! To the seven Hells with proper, this isn't the damn Dark Ages, you know." I growled, picking the lock with ease and shoving the door open.

"But you're a man! It's just not done!" the midwife wailed.

"Now it is. The only way I'm leaving is if Marissa says so," I told her firmly. I came over to my wife, who was gasping in the midst of another contraction. "D'you want me to leave, beloved?"

"No!" she grabbed my hand so hard I think she broke two fingers. "I . . .want . . .you . . .right . . .here . . .Don't you dare leave, you bastard!"

I shot the midwife a triumphant look. Then I gave all my attention to my wife, alternately exhorting her to breathe and to walk about.

"How am I doing?" she panted.

"You're doing great. The babies are fine. This will be over soon, Rissa, I promise."

"I damn well hope so."

So did I, believe me. Seeing her in such pain was driving me mad. Especially because I knew exactly how much it hurt. She did brilliantly, I must say. After the early stages of contractions, I went ahead and used magic to reduce the pain, so she delivered both babies laughing instead of crying. I mean, what's the advantage to being a magician if you can't use magic at a time like this?

Our daughter Aleta practically walked out of the womb into my arms.

Ten minutes later she was followed by her little brother Matthew, who had a set of lungs to rival Thor's.

Both twins weighed about five and a half pounds and had a scream that could rouse the dead from their graves. Not that I cared. Their indignant wails sounded like the sweetest music ever made to my ears. I cradled my daughter in one arm and handed my son to his mother, who gazed at him with such love it made tears come to my eyes.

"Oh, Loki. Look at him. He's so beautiful! And she's so lively. They're both perfect."

"Of course they are. They're my kids, after all." I boasted. Then I added glibly at her frown, "Why wouldn't they be perfect like their mother?"

"Flatterer," Marissa smiled. "You done good, magician. Now you have heirs to ensure that your Name will never be forgotten."

I threw back my head and laughed. "Oh, Marissa, I doubt that my name will ever be in danger of that. If anything, I'm notorious."

"Nonsense. You're my husband and the hero who recovered the Black Spear. Not mention the best magician in all the realms. Now there's a lineage your children can be proud of."

She left out a thief and a liar, but we can't all be perfect, can we? And at least my children would grow up with a father around to teach them and love them. As Marissa had said, I had my legacy there—my magic and my heirs and my beloved wife, who would never grow old and die.

Not bad for an orphaned, illegitimate, half-Aesir brat, wouldn't you say?

**The End**

A/N: Well, how did you all like it? Review please, I'd love to hear from you!

I'm thinking of posting another story up here, this one is a retold myth about Aridane and Theseus of Greek mythology. Would this interest you?


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